Fantasy Fridays
by A Beauty to the Rhythm
Summary: "You know, Castle, your bucket list was way more PG-13 that I thought it'd be." A series of steamy little one-shots based on our favorite couple's new weekly tradition. Season 5.
1. A Different Kind of Bucket List

_Welcome to Fantasy Fridays! __Hold on to your knickers - this series of one-shots is going to get spicy.__ I'm hoping to post a chapter each week. Although my plan is to have a (light) thread of character development/plot running through these stories, each chapter should be able to stand alone. I've got a long list of ideas and am always open to more! Reviews, follows, and favorites feed the fairies of my inspiration, so don't be a stranger!_

_This introductory chapter takes place right after 5x17 - Scared to Death, in the early days of Castle and Beckett's relationship. _

_WARNING: If you're not comfortable with M-rated stories, please hit the back button._

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><p><strong>Fantasy Fridays<strong>  
>Chapter One: A Different Kind of Bucket List<p>

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><p>The ice is melting.<p>

Beads of condensation merge together and slide down the sides of the whiskey glass in Castle's hand, pooling between his thumb and forefinger before seeping past to soak into the comforter. They'd been too desperate to pull the sheets back.

Castle's muscles are gelatinous; it takes all he has just to keep the tumbler from falling and shattering on the floor.

_Fucking hell_, the woman was not kidding about the ice cubes.

Kate returns from the bathroom and grins at the sight of her very naked, very limp partner sprawled on the bed.

"Castle, you haven't moved for at least ten minutes."

"Can't," he mumbles. "All fucked out."

Kate ties the silk sash of her robe and perches at Castle's hip. She spots the precariously balanced whiskey glass in his hand and leans over him to move it to the bedside table. Castle's other hand meanders up her thigh, slipping beneath the cool material, and he murmurs something she can't quite make out.

"Use your words, Castle."

"Mmm … Look good … n'purple."

"Thanks for the compliment, Casanova. And don't pretend you like this robe for any other reason than its inability to stay tied." She leans down and applies a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, letting her breasts brush against his chest.

He musters enough energy to pry open an eye and concludes happily that the sash is definitely falling asleep on the job.

"There may be another reason I like that robe."

"And that would be?"

"It's very short." He squeezes her thigh. Hard. The tension he'd banished to her fingertips only minutes ago starts to wind back onto the tight spool in her stomach. God, this man, already winding her up again. Well, technically, he's been winding her up for years; she just enjoys this new type of winding a little bit more. Aches for the moment the thread breaks and leaves her in a tangled, messy heap.

Kate slides down the bed and fits herself against the terrain of her partner's body. She lets her fingers drift up and down the soft curve of his side. Her nails leave a trail of goosebumps when she drags them over the hard ridge of his pelvic bone.

"You know, Castle, your bucket list was way more PG-13 that I thought it'd be."

"Oh? I'm a pillar of virtue, Beckett. What sort of filth did you expect?" He's exhausted, his voice impossibly low, and she loves it.

"Oh, I don't know. Just thought that by now you'd have a long list of things a certain writer has been wanting to do with a certain law enforcement agent."

"You know for a fact that Nikki and Rook have an admirably healthy sex life, but if you want to know what _my_ wildest fantasies are, Detective," he pauses, and she shivers at the indescribably sexy way her professional title rolls off his tongue, "all you have to do is ask."

"I think I have a better idea." Her fingers can't resist the magnetic urge to touch him where he's already firming for her. She wraps her hand around him and strokes slowly from base to tip, eliciting a dark, gravelly moan. "What if we institute a new tradition? We take turns telling each other one fantasy each week."

"Ooh, can we make it a rule that the other person has to accept?"

"Not sure that would be very safe."

"Why, Detective Beckett, what are you insinuating? That your list has something on it that might be too filthy even for me?"

"Not exactly, but I'm fairly sure your fantasies are going to include more illegal activities than mine. And more opportunities to get caught."

Suddenly, her voice drops to a whisper, infused with an honesty he never thought he'd see from her. "But I'll do my best to make your dreams come true."

"And you're sure you don't want to just exchange lists up front?"

"More anticipation this way. And if anyone can appreciate a little anticipation, it's us," she smiles. "If we read them all at once the mystery would just … be over."

Castle tucks this piece of Kate away deep inside himself. It reminds him of how she eats M&Ms, meting out her pleasure just a few pieces at a time, storing half of them for another day. He always tears the end of the bag clean off, tipping the candy into his mouth in an avalanche of chocolate. He usually regrets it five minutes later. Lately he's taken to buying two bags at a time from the vending machine at the precinct. Or three.

"I think it's an amazing idea," he beams at her. "Your filthy little ice cube trick - and it is filthy by the way - has been one of my fantasies since the day you mentioned it, so consider tonight our inauguration. You get to choose next week's fantasy."

Kate can almost feel the idea bubbling in his mind before his next words come out. "Hey! Since today's Friday, can we call our new tradition Fantasy Fridays?"

"Sure, Castle. Although I thought you'd want to call it Fuckit List Fridays."

"Oh my God, you are the best girlfriend _ever_."

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><p><em>Thoughts?<em>


	2. Personal Stylist

_Author's Note: Thank you, incredibly awesome readers, for pushing me to almost the 200 follower mark with only one chapter. I'm so pleased my story has piqued your interest, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!_

_Warning: Rated M._

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><p><strong>Fantasy Fridays<strong>  
>Chapter Two: Personal Stylist<p>

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><p>Castle polishes off the last slice of their homemade pizza. Kate swirls the Petit Syrah in her wineglass in a graceful circle, her eyes locked seductively on him, but he doesn't notice until he's pulled his napkin out of his lap and laid it on the table.<p>

She looks incredible, sitting at the table in his loft, his _girlfriend,_ like she's belonged there all her life. She's wearing an emerald silk halter top that makes her shoulders look phenomenally tan, and the dark jeans he loves to see on but hates to peel off. Her legs are crossed, and one bare foot casually strokes his calf through the thin fabric of his dress pants.

"So," he says. He's afraid she hasn't remembered their new little tradition. He, on the other hand, has been thinking about it all day. Quite possibly to the detriment of the case they're working on.

"So?" she prompts, eyes innocent and oblivious.

"Do you … want to watch a movie or something?" He back-pedals like a nervous (and very horny) teenager.

"I don't know, Castle. Do you? I mean, it is _Friday_ after all, so we can stay up as late as we want." The trademark Beckett smirk curves on her lips. Even after three months, he sometimes forgets that they're lovers. _Lovers_. Shit, sometimes he still expects her to twist his ear just for looking at her too long.

He shakes off his nerves and covers her knee with his broad palm. "No, actually, I don't want to watch a movie. I want to hear about what you … want._"_

"Give me a few minutes," she says. Then she sets her wine glass down and leans in to whisper in his ear. "Then come find me."

She heads for the bedroom.

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><p>Castle loads the dishwasher haphazardly, nearly breaking a plate in the process, then goes after her. A wavering line of warm light bisects the darkness of the bedroom. The bathroom door is ajar, and he can smell Kate's favorite candles burning. The scent of Sweet Almond and Macaroon hangs heavily in the air.<p>

God, this was a brilliant idea.

He knocks lightly on the door before nudging it open. Kate's sitting on the counter next to her neatly folded jeans and top. The navy blue lace of her balconet bra and matching underwear are a stark contrast to her glowing skin. She looks luminous, delicious, and … shy?

She reaches her arms out to him and he steps between her knees. He's so wide and strong, and Kate kicks herself a little bit for thinking that. She's hidden from this for so long. Hidden from her desire to be crushed into a mattress by someone twice her weight, hidden from her need to be stretched and filled and simply loved. That Castle can do all of that both physically and figuratively … she never thought she'd find everything she needs in one man.

"I don't know why I'm nervous." She smiles self-consciously, and it's the most adorable thing he's ever seen. "It's not even kinky. Thought I'd start small."

Castle sets to work doing what he does best: helping her let go of her death grip on darkness and reality. His dips his mouth down to hers and tastes her with a kiss so sweet and perfect it makes the floor tilt. The amniotic silence of the bathroom is broken only by the soft smacks of their lips meeting and parting. He thinks he might like her reverent almost more than he likes her loud.

She brings her hands to his waist and tugs his shirt from his pants, sliding her hands under the fabric to run them over his stomach. He threads his fingers through her hair until one hand is cupping the back of her head and the other is tracing a line over her shoulder, dragging her bra strap down with it.

All hell breaks loose. He's not sure who deepens the kiss, but in seconds they're writhing and panting, applying their mouths to every inch of skin they can find. Kate's never been so thankful for his short attention span. One second he's sucking hard at the pulse under her jaw, the next he's freeing her from her bra with his teeth, the next he's back up and plundering her mouth with dizzying skill. Not one to be outdone, she grabs his shirt at just the right angle and several buttons pop open at once. She licks from his sternum to his throat even as she tears his belt open and wrenches his zipper down.

They don't slow down until their lips meet again for another searing kiss. Finally, their eyes open. They're both a little surprised to find that his shirt's gone, her bra's gone, his pants are halfway down his thighs and his cock is in her hand.

"How did that happen?" She whispers, almost laughing.

He moves his hips forward in her hand until he can see the dark shadow of arousal chase all the humor from her eyes.

"Wait … Castle … If you don't stop - _oh fuck -_ we're not going to get to the main event."

She kisses him once more before forcibly removing the thumb he's pressing intimately against her, rubbing her to distraction through the layer of lace. She smacks his ass soundly and pushes him away from the counter. Her other hand is suddenly cool and empty, and she misses the heavy weight of him in her palm.

Bravely, she pads over to the shower and turns on the water. She glances over her shoulder at him before shimmying out of her underwear. He looks ridiculous, cock standing at attention through the slit in his silk boxers and pants on the verge of sliding into a puddle at his feet. She's not entirely sure, but she thinks he might be holding his breath.

Sure enough, there's a little huff as Castle exhales, pulling it together in time to divest himself fully of his clothes. He follows Kate into the shower once the water's warm.

"You know, Beckett, I'm very fond of shower related fantasies."

"It's killing you not to just ask what I want, isn't it?"

"Guilty."

"Okay, Castle. Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

He obeys, but he uses his other hand to grab her ass.

She places something on his palm, but it's too light to really tell what it might be.

"Open," she husks.

He cracks one eye open, then the other. In his palm is a hot pink plastic razor. There's kind of a lot going on at the top, the three blades flanked by some sort of pearlescent jelly. It reminds him of … never mind.

"You … want me to shave you?"

She nods, looking up at him from under her lashes.

"If it's too weird, you don't have to, I just always wanted … no one's ever…"

He silences her with a kiss.

"Kate, I'd absolutely love to." He stares at her, trying to say with the deep blue of his eyes all the things he means by that statement._ You're everything. I'll never be able to say no to you_.

"Where should I start?"

"Legs," Kate murmurs.

Castle spins them around and sits on the built-in bench of the shower. Kate faces him, water sluicing down her body. He taps behind her knee and she raises her right leg, twisting a little bit so it's perpendicular to his.

"Do I need shaving cream?" he asks.

"No, that's what those things are for," Kate says, pointing to the gelatinous pink things.

Castle wraps one hand around her ankle, thumb stroking absently at the jut of bone. He wants to turn his head and just stare at her where she's openly and intimately exposed to him, but he forces himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He sets the blades against her skin and starts making smooth, slow glides upwards. There's hardly any hair there; she's been keeping herself very well-groomed now that she's having sex regularly, but he feels a tiny bit of vibration transfer to his wrist as the short hairs are severed. It rasps against every nerve in his body.

Kate rests one hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She can't take her eyes off of him as he carefully, reverently shaves her. The steam of the shower makes it hard to breathe, and she has to fight to keep her eyes open. It feels so _fucking _good, especially when he lets the razor trail over her knee and up her thigh, stopping much too far from where she really wants him.

"Have I told you lately how much I love your legs?" he asks.

"You may have mentioned it. I shudder to think what would have happened if I'd been short."

"Mmm. Lucky for me, they are so deliciously long. This might take a while."

He works patiently, drawing each stroke out as long as he can, but it's over too soon, both her legs gleaming glassily. She doesn't move, one leg still propped on the bench, feeling exposed beyond belief, but paralyzed with the thrill of it.

Castle presses a kiss to her stomach, then sinks his chin in just below her navel, looking up at her with hazy eyes. His fingers trip over her hip, then fall into the valley where her leg meets her torso.

"Kate? Can I shave you here?" Castle asks, running the pad of his finger over her bikini line. She gasps at how quickly her arousal pools between her legs, embarrassingly close to spilling out of her and onto him. When she doesn't answer immediately, he draws back to look at the skin he's stroking. He's gone down on her so many times, but he's never stared so intently at her core, like a man dying of thirst.

She nods fervently, feverishly, then grinds out a _yes._

She'd come into tonight thinking maybe he'd only go for the legs, that maybe he'd be bored by it and end up inside her against the tiled wall. It shouldn't surprise her anymore that he's a better judge of her desires than she is.

Castle nudges her knee gently, opening her even more to his sight. He places his thumb on her thigh and pulls, drawing the skin tight so he can angle the razor into the crease of her leg.

When the plastic touches her, she shivers.

"Kate? Is that okay? Am I doing it right?"

"You're doing great, Castle. Don't stop."

He draws the razor over her again and again, until she's smooth everywhere that might be exposed in a swimsuit. But she wants more.

"Don't stop," she whispers.

He tilts her pelvis and starts in again, this time underneath her, a place that only he'll ever see or feel. The razor is wide, too wide for the small swathes of skin on either side of her entrance. It nudges her lips, breaking the fragile and temporary sticky seal of her.

Castle stops breathing. He never realized he'd be able to tell what moisture was from the shower and what was from her just by looking at it.

"Fuck, Kate. I have to taste you."

He draws one knuckle along the length of her, gathering her slickness on his skin.

Kate's eyes slam shut for a moment, but she knows what he's going to do next and she can't miss it.

Sure enough, Castle raises his finger to his mouth and licks off every trace of her. Her flavor is rich and somehow dry, like a bold red wine. _Crazy writer's brain_, he thinks. _ How can something so damn wet taste dry?_

He wants more, he wants to bury his face in her and never come out, but he's not done yet.

"I'll continue with that in a minute," he promises huskily. "But first, is there anything else you want me to do?"

She knows what he's asking, even if he's avoiding saying it crudely. She's experimented with different … styles … before, but their relationship is so new that she didn't want to start out with anything too crazy. You never know what men might or might not like. So she'd kept it pretty vanilla, just keeping her bikini like in check and the rest of it trimmed neatly.

"Whatever you want. Anything. Whatever you want." Her head rolls as the words spill out of her. She's swollen with want and swears that she can feel her own pulse where he'd touched her.

"Can I…" He swallows. "All of it?"

She locks eyes with him, and is decimated by the pure want she sees in him.

"Yes." There's no hesitation. She'll do anything for him.

He sets to work right away, wishing he could stroke himself and relieve the unbelievable pressure that's building in him. He's achingly hard, straining upwards, pointing towards the place he so desperately wants to be.

It takes him a few minutes, and they're both impatient, Kate's fingers tightening on his shoulder until he's sure to find bruises in the morning.

And then finally, finally, he's finished, and she's completely exposed to him.

"You're gorgeous, Kate."

He keeps his eyes trained on her as he sets the razor in the niche carved in the wall for shampoos and soaps. He smiles when she circles her hips impatiently against the air.

And then his mouth is on her, his tongue dragging a hot, slow stripe to part her. He flexes his tongue against her clit, circles twice, then dips back down to invade her. Her legs start to shake.

His tongue is a brushfire, coating her in flames, the heat of his touch lingering long after he's left to explore other places. He slips a finger into her with more ease than ever before. She's so wet she can barely feel it. That is until he curls up against her, finding roughness and pressing, building her from within even as he's breaking her from without.

Her head spins from the combination of heat and lust. Her orgasm develops, blooming slowly and exquisitely, so gradually that she's in the middle of it almost before she realizes it's started. She loves these kinds of orgasms; they're the kind she searches for when she's alone. Other men's fingers and tongues have only been able to give her what she thinks of as flash-in-the-pan orgasms, hard, tight ones that get the job done, but with Castle the petals of her orgasm unfold, expanding outward from her clit until every nerve in her body is in bloom, vivid and floral and _alive_.

Her legs give out and she melts into him. He works her down, stroking softly until her fluttering muscles calm around his fingers.

For a while the only sound is her harsh breathing and the tinny plinks of water striking tile.

She raises her head and touches a finger to his lower lip.

"You outdid yourself back there, stud."

"Glad you enjoyed it."

"Did you? Enjoy it, I mean?"

"It was fucking amazing, Kate." She hides her smile in his neck. "If you're taking applications, I'd be happy to be your personal groomer."

"Mmm. Just might take you up on that. Speaking of, I haven't paid you for your services."

"I'm cheap."

"Yeah, cheap and easy," she teases.

"Hey, not nice," he pouts.

"Shut up and let me settle our bill, Castle."

"Yes - _oh fuck _- yes ma'am."

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><p><em>Hint for next week: It's Castle's turn, and he wants to do something he thought she'd never agree to - while they're on duty ;)<em>


	3. The Crown Vic

_Author's Note: Happy Friday everyone! Thank you for all the support you've given this story so far. A special thank you to manuxinhace for the extra-big smile I had plastered on my face after reading what I've officially deemed my review of the week :) I've got Kate's next wish lined up but after that my ideas for her fantasy requests are getting thin, so if there's anything you want to see her ask for, let me know!_

_Warning: Rated M. _

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><p><strong>Fantasy Fridays<strong>  
>Chapter Three: The Crown Vic<p>

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><p>It starts like any other stakeout. Castle gets to the bottom of his strawberry milkshake and goes overboard with exaggerated slurping sounds, earning him a punch on the arm. He reaches for the AMFM button when he thinks she's not looking, and she slaps his wrist. It's accompanied by his familiar whine: _who listens to AM radio after 7pm?_

They chat about having Alexis home for a week over fall break, and about what she's planning to do about the rusty ring of mold on her ceiling from her upstairs neighbor's busted pipes. Most of the time they're quiet, lost in the familiarity of one another. The complete lack of pressure to say anything is refreshing after a long day at the precinct.

Beckett's been on dozens of stakeouts over the years, and as annoying as Castle can be, there's no one she'd rather spend the night with. Granted, she'd much prefer to be holed up in his bedroom than sitting in her Crown Vic, shifting as the seats grow more uncomfortable by the minute.

When she finally switches the radio over to FM and tunes into a classic rock station, she expects a grin, or a flash of wit. What she gets is his hand on her thigh, heavy and warm.

Okay. She can deal with that.

His pinky starts drawing circles, catching on the inseam of her jeans.

Uh oh.

"Castle."

He turns to her, an innocent _hmm? _on his lips.

"Whatcha doing there, buddy?"

"What? I'm not allowed to do this? It's perfectly innocent."

"Yeah, I'll bet." She used to sound threatening. What happened to that?

"It's a good six inches away from … anywhere serious." He slides his hand up, slowly, sending her blood in a frenzied dash for anywhere but her head. "Okay, maybe now only three."

She can mostly keep it under control around him, but it's late, and dark, and she hasn't had him since yesterday afternoon. Good lord, to think she'd been in relationships where she could go weeks without missing it.

Castle leans over and more of his weight falls behind his hand. He brushes his lips just under her ear.

"Might you care to revise your rule about the Crown Vic, just this once?"

"Not a chance, Castle." But her eyes are closing, and her head is hitting the headrest. Oops.

"But Beckett," his voice lilts teasingly, "it's 12:01. It's Friday."

She sighs. "I knew this would come back to bite me in the ass."

"Mmm, biting. Might want to save that particular location for when we're at home, though. Not a lot of room in here."

He runs his hand up her leg, but instead of going straight for the good stuff, he skirts around the outside of her hip before darting under the loose cream satin of her blouse. His fingers are warm on her stomach, his palm spanning her. Oh, he does have big hands. The leather of his seat creaks as he leans further over and starts working at her neck with his hot mouth.

"No hickeys, Castle. The boys will go crazy if they find any evidence of this when we get back to the 12th."

His lips soften, and then he's angling his chin into her just the way she likes it, the way that just borders on tickling. It makes her insides unstable, as if one good shake could send all her organs to all the wrong places.

He drags a thick finger under her waistband, runs it hip to hip. She opens her eyes, chancing a look at him although she knows it will be her undoing. It mesmerizes her, the way the muscles in his forearm work as he twists to undo the button of her jeans. She likes him in dress shirts, but she loves it when he rolls up his sleeves.

She captures his mouth and dives in just as he drags her zipper down. She doesn't know what to do with her hands; one kneads into her own thigh, the other scrabbles over the center console before snaking up through his hair. She pulls his head back until she's almost looking down on him, bearing her lips and tongue into his mouth proprietarily. She likes to get a little bit dominant in the kissing, in the beginning. But she likes to get submissive later on.

He takes control back when he slides his fingers down, caught tight under her clothes, pressing hard into her as he rides over her clit. It's rough, it's too much but not enough, and she wriggles her hips, hands suddenly busy trying to free herself of her jeans. She's about to attack her highly impertinent underwear when Castle speaks.

"Mm, better leave those on, Beckett. Don't want to make a mess of the seat."

"It's leather." She throws the words at him, catches the hot flash of desire in his eyes that makes him slick one finger through her wetness, playing at her entrance.

He's got Kate Beckett dripping wet with her pants around her knees in the driver's seat of her Crown Vic, and it's hotter than he ever could have imagined. Then he feels her palm land on his erection. She gropes him through his jeans, alternately stroking and grabbing, and shit she's going to have to stop if this is going to be about her.

In an effort to fend her off, he shoves two fingers high inside her, without preamble. He can be gentle, but most of the time she doesn't like it gentle. He doesn't mind. It makes their tender moments that much more meaningful.

He settles his thumb on her clit, pressing downwards to find the fingers he has buried inside her, and she moans. Loudly. _ There we go, Beckett, good girl._

And then he just goes, wrist twisting as he pumps his fingers in and out of her, collecting her arousal and slicking it up to where his thumb is pressing feverish circles in perfect rhythm to the stroking. She's panting, breathing fast and dry, eyes pressed shut and head rolling, hand still on his thigh grasping for him in the moments where she has the presence of mind to pleasure him back.

Suddenly, she's frustrated. It happens sometimes, when it takes longer to get her off than she would like. He has all the patience in the world - has been known to spend ridiculous amounts of time chasing her fourth or fifth orgasm - but she can't always wait. She rips her left foot out of her high heeled boot and shimmies one leg out of her jeans, shifting in her seat to change the angle of her pelvis, lifting the long line of her bare leg until her foot's resting on the dashboard. Her blood red toenails glisten black in the night.

He can't stop watching her foot. It slips against the glass, leaving damp, misty marks on the cold windshield. He's still working her, adding another finger and scissoring her open, wishing he could get his mouth in on the action.

His eyes dart up to her chest. The mottled rosy blush creeping up her neck is her tell; it's how he knows she's really close. Well, that, and the _fuck Castle harder fuck. _The woman is a fucking wet dream. And she's definitely really close.

Castle bites her shoulder and looks back to the windshield. He knows exactly how dangerous those powerful legs can be. She gave him plenty of bruises before he worked out where the safe zones were. He should really tell her to put her leg down. But before he can say anything, the panting stops suddenly, her breath caught on an inhale, and her most private muscles twist tightly around his fingers as she spasms, and damn, her leg is tensing - oh no -

_Fuck._

He hears the sharp snap as the windshield cracks and hopes to God it doesn't cut her orgasm short, because Kate Beckett interrupted is not a happy thing. Her eyes are still closed, mouth falling open on his name, body still fluttering, clenching, writhing. Thank God.

He swirls his fingers in her before withdrawing, leaving her with a hard circle on her clit that always makes her shudder one more time.

Her eyes drift open, soft and warm. Won't last long -

"What. The. Fuck."

"I didn't do it!" he squeaks.

"Did you seriously just break the windshield?"

"Um…"

"Castle, I'm gonna kill you!" She's mortified, pulling her underwear and her jeans back on in haste.

She starts to open the car door, but remembers she's on a case, instead huffing petulantly and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. He can't help but wonder how hard her nipples are.

Castle shifts back into his seat, adjusting his trousers in an effort to quell his insistent hard on. They're quiet for a few minutes. He knows she's deciding whether to be satisfied or seething, and he hopes she chooses satisfied because it's going to be a long, long night if she doesn't let him do anything about this problem in his pants. He really didn't think this one through.

Finally, she breaks the silence.

"Oh for God's sake, get in the backseat, Castle. Can't have you looking like that all night."

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><p>Fortunately for the case, the suspect shows up just after dawn. Unfortunately for Beckett, she forgets to wipe down the window before calling Ryan and Esposito in for backup. The killer's in cuffs and in the back of a squad car on the way to the 12th before the boys notice.<p>

"Yo Becks, what happened to your windshield?" Esposito asks. Castle tenses, but Beckett's got her reply ready.

"Rock from an dump truck on the Lincoln Highway." She's good, he has to hand it to her. Nonchalant, steady.

"That so?" Ryan squints at the vehicle. "Why are there fingerprints on it?"

Not such a hard question. Maybe she'd been inspecting the damage. Castle waits for her to explain it away.

A blush creeps up her face, but her eyes are steel as she replies.

"They're not fingerprints. They're toe prints." She grabs Castle's arm and shoves him towards the car. "See you boys back at the precinct."

Castle can't keep the proud smirk off his face, even if the boys are making gagging noises behind them.

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><p><em>Hint for next week: Castle finds most of his post-injury boredom cured by Kate's spectacular birthday fake-murder surprise. She finds him typing madly away on his laptop, mind spilling over with ideas for Nikki. Sometimes she forgets that he's the writer that she'd idolized for so many years before meeting him, but not this time.<em>


	4. Work it Out

_Author's Note: I wasn't quite happy with the chapter I was planning to post, so I'll work on it a bit more before sharing it with you guys. For now, let's assume it's Castle's turn again._

_Warning: Rated M. _

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><p><strong>Fantasy Fridays<strong>  
>Chapter Four: Work it Out<p>

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><p>The elevator doors close on Esposito and Ryan's smirking faces. The bullpen is dim. It's a quiet night for murder, but a few cops mill around their desks, filing papers or typing in the blue light of their computer screens.<p>

"Yours or mine, Castle?" Kate asks, pulling her coat off the back of her chair.

Castle takes it from her and she turns, waiting for him to help her into it like he does every day. It's the only time she lets him get away with a bit of touching at the precinct. She secretly loves the way he pulls her hair out from under her collar, fingers lingering at the back of her neck under the cover of her curls. If he did that any earlier in the day, she'd get nothing done, but she allows it when they're on their way out the door.

She waits, but the coat doesn't come. She turns to face him, a question on her lips, but he speaks first.

"I thought you might want to get in a workout before we went home. I brought these, in case you didn't have any clean clothes here." Castle produces a small canvas bag from beneath his chair. She's been wondering about it all day, but hadn't had a chance to ask him what was inside.

He hands it to her and she fishes out her tightest black yoga pants and a strappy bright pink sports bra that she's never seen before.

"Usually I wear more than just a bra when I work out, Castle, but I think I have a shirt back there. You sure you don't want to go home? I mean, it is the end of the week and all…" she leans in and drops her voice. "So it's your turn."

"Believe me, I am not ever going to forget what day of the week it is. And this," he smiles, glancing down at the workout clothes, "_is _my turn."

Oh.

Kate does a sweep of the floor. Just LT and two other fairly new homicide detectives. LT leaves at the same time every day, so he'll be gone in about fifteen minutes. The other two … oh, what the hell. There's a lock on the hallway door that leads to the gym. And she did promise him she'd try.

"Okay, Castle. Let's go. You gonna hold my punching bag?"

"That's the idea," he leers, like it's some brilliant double entendre, and she doesn't even know how that makes sense. She laughs anyway and leads the way to the locker room.

* * *

><p>They check that the gym's empty before splitting up into the changing rooms. Something funny happens to Kate's heart rate as she unbuttons her dress shirt, not bothering to take cover behind her locker door. She stands naked in the humidity before deciding she doesn't need underwear for this particular workout session. She slides her yoga pants on.<p>

She takes the sports bra out of the bag. She's a bit of a nut for sexy workout clothes, but doesn't own as many as she'd like. She'll have to remember to thank Castle for this one. She navigates her way through the asymmetrical straps, poking her head out the wrong way before getting it right. It looks amazing on. Deciding to skip the t-shirt after all, she bends over and adjusts her breasts to maximize cleavage. She pulls her hair into a high ponytail. He's just going to love this.

When she enters the gym, Castle's standing with his back to her, rolling a medicine ball around with his foot. He's in navy blue basketball shorts and a matching (scrumptiously tight) UnderArmor shirt. Not for the first time, she's struck by how much muscle he has for someone who hardly ever works out. If she doesn't run for a week, her calves soften, but his are rock hard and defined even after months of inactivity. And those shoulders, damn. He's definitely not hard to look at.

When he turns around, the unsure boy in him disappears, replaced by the look she loves best on him. The look that says 'I'm going to take what I want from you without asking first.'

"Hold this, Castle," she says, moving to the black punching bag that hangs from the ceiling.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, she's sweating, strands of hair are escaping her ponytail, and her knuckles ache under the protection she's wearing. They're both worked up. Only so much longer they can last.<p>

"How bout some wrestling?" He asks darkly.

She laughs. This won't take long.

Sure enough, she pins him in seconds, one of his legs pressed between them, knee to opposite shoulder.

"Damn," he exhales. "I'm gonna feel that in the morning." She rolls off him as he gingerly massages his hamstring.

"Sorry, Castle. You should know what to expect by - oof -"

Suddenly, somehow, she's under him, his heavy, warm body pinning her to the floor. Shit. She did not see that coming.

"You were saying?" he growls. There's a smug little smile on his face, but another sweeter one beneath it that tells her he knows exactly how much she likes being taken by surprise. She'll have to remember to ask him where he learned that move later. Probably doing research for Derrick Storm. It reminds her of the time he came to find her in the shooting range and shot the grin right off her face. He's incredibly annoying. And incredibly sexy.

He grinds his hips into hers, pressing himself against her core. Earlier, when she was working the heavy bag, she'd noticed exactly when he began reacting to her, the loose fabric of the basketball shorts clinging to him as he grew. She'd always been a fan of, to put it delicately, certain parts of men, but this - him … God, nothing compared.

Castle lets his entire weight fall onto her as he reaches for her wrists and brings them above her head. He teases the fingertips of his free hand under the soft waist of her yoga pants, and then his control snaps. It's rough and crass when he shoves his hand down the front to curve his palm over her.

"Fuck, Beckett." He's discovered she's going commando, then. "This is so much better than I imagined it. And you're much, _much_ wetter."

She can't help it, she has to know.

"When? Exactly - " Her words struggle to come out between pants as his palm digs into her clit. "When did you imagine it?

"That time we had to pull you from a workout to update you on a case. You were so sweaty, but I didn't mind."

That was years ago. Years.

"What did you imagine? In your fantasy, were you here too?" Unsure of what to do with her hands, they land on his ass, squeezing and pulling him closer to her.

"Mmm." His affirmative vibrates into her neck and she shivers as his stubble rakes over her.

"In my version, I cornered you in the locker room. Did unspeakable things to you up against the wall in the shower."

Kate winds her leg around his and flips them over smoothly, then she's gone, leaving Castle in a dazed slump on his back.

He cranes his neck up to catch a glimpse of her disappearing into the locker room.

She doesn't have to say it out loud this time.

_You coming Castle?_

* * *

><p>Castle pushes the door open and hears the weak pattering of the shower, feels the humidity starting to gather. The women's locker room is a lot cleaner than the mens' and smells like plain, cheap soap instead of stale socks. He stalks slowly down the line of rusting turquoise lockers, pausing when he sees the yoga pants and the pink bra in a heap on the bench near Kate's open locker.<p>

He draws in a breath. Three years ago, she would have absolutely murdered him for following her into the locker room, and now she _expects_ him to, leaving a trail of clothes that flood his imagination with what he's about to see.

_Holy fuck, I really am Kate Beckett's boyfriend._ He'd thought he hit the jackpot when his books climbed the charts, giving him the kind of money and fame most people can't fathom. He didn't have any right to be so lucky two times in one life, and being allowed to love Kate is like winning the lottery all over again.

And then he rounds the corner and sees her and all of his blood rushes south. If he had a shovel he'd use it to scoop his jaw off the floor. Kate's standing under the spray, the flimsy cloth curtain left open to give him a full view of her magnificent body. He can't decide where to look, her outstandingly pert breasts, the long shining lines of her legs, or the apex of her thighs where she's got one hand pressed against herself, two fingers unaccounted for, palm grinding slowly, eyes locked on his, challenging.

"Getting started without me?"

She shrugs. "You were taking a long time."

Castle quickly strips off his basketball shorts and top and joins Kate under the water. He crowds in on her, keeping just a centimeter between their bodies, letting his heat taunt her. Her knuckles brush against his thigh, and he grabs her wrist, drawing her away from herself. He wants to take over, wants to be the one giving her pleasure. He drops his lips to her ear.

"You know what I was thinking out there?"

"Mmm, what?" she sighs, body loosening as he nudges her back against the tiles.

"About how lucky I am to be the one that gets to do … _this_." His fingers delve into her, thicker and more insistent than her own. She gasps, jolting hard and grabbing for his shoulders.

He's not gentle, not with his fingers pumping inside her, pulling incessantly against the spot that makes her writhe, and not with his mouth when he starts in on her neck, setting her on fire. It's too much, this voracious attack, heightened by the absolute filthiness of being in the precinct locker room, where she has so many mundane memories. Never did she think she'd be having sex in _this_ shower. She knows they locked the hall door, but she can't help feeling a little on edge, a little excited that someone might catch them, her body naked and slammed up against the wall, her _civilian partner's _fingers working high inside her. It's just so _inappropriate _and completely against regulations and so fucking _hot_. She closes her eyes against the perfect torment.

She's about to shatter, and shatter hard. Castle scrapes his jaw just under her ear and sucks her earlobe into his mouth. He thrusts his words into her ear in rhythm to the movements of his hand.

"I'm so lucky to be the one that gets to. Make. You. Come."

And he does.

He doesn't slow down, leaving her empty for only a fraction of a second before purring into her ear: "But most of all I was thinking about how lucky I am to be the one that gets to _fuck_ you."

And then he's pushing into her heat, impaling her on his unbelievably hard body, catching the tail end of her orgasm, feeling her muscles collapse around him. She cries out, a long string of obscenities and more than a few repetitions of his name, and then she's lifting her legs and taking it like a champ as he starts pounding into her. He always did admire her recovery time. It doesn't take long to get her close to the edge again.

She claws at his back, grating out, "Harder, Castle. I'm about to come again. Harder."

He's not too far behind himself when the water suddenly turns ice cold.

His reflexes are admirably fast. Castle snatches her off the wall, reaches behind her to turn off the water, and steps back holding her under her thighs, still buried deep inside her.

Castle looks around, wild with panic because he just needs to keep moving, keep chasing this bliss with her.

"Shit, Castle, we can't stop now," she whispers, apparently just as desperate as him.

"Oh, trust me, I have no intention of stopping. Do you think that sink will support your weight?"

Kate scans the room hazily. "I wouldn't bet on it. But I could just…" She slides down his body and grabs the battered metal chair the women use to hang their towels on and positions it in front of the full length mirror screwed to the opposite wall.

Castle's mouth goes dry when she bends over, leaning her forearms on the arms of the chair, grinning at him in the mirror. He's not stupid, so he scrambles to take up his position behind her. He strokes himself once and presses his tip against her, and fuck if he's not about to come just from the sight alone. They lock eyes in the mirror. When he slides into her they both groan.

The pause in activity has given him a second to remind himself to take it slow, to savor every moment with this woman. So instead of losing control, he starts stroking into her in languid, beautiful movements, watching her eyes darken and glaze over.

"Castle," she rasps.

"Yeah?"

"You know how at work, I'm the alpha? Well, I know it's your fantasy night, so feel free to save this one for another time, but since we're here, at work, doing really irresponsible things, I was wondering if you'd maybe, um … take control for once?"

"Why, whatever do you mean, Kate?" he asks, the glint in his eye letting her know there's a very good chance he knows exactly what she means. Still, she has no problem spelling it out for him.

"I mean that if you want to fuck me really hard, I'd really like that."

_Damn._

"I fucking love you."

Castle pulls back slowly, until he's almost completely out of her, and then he slams into her so hard that the chair rocks forward. He doesn't let up, not until she's chanting out his name, and he grips her on either side of her pelvis, lifting her feet completely off the floor, giving himself to her as fast and as powerfully as he can physically manage. She feels him tense, can feel the shimmering moment he starts pouring heat into her, and they crash over the edge of their orgasms together in a spectacular and very loud explosion.

Thankfully the walls at the precinct are solid concrete.

* * *

><p>They dry each other off with the fluffy towel in Kate's locker, dressing with thrilled and shaky hands.<p>

Before Kate unlocks the hallway door, Castle pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

"Thanks, Kate. Best workout I've ever had."

"Mmm, me too." She sweeps her eyes down his body. Why are those basketball shorts really doing it for her? Maybe it's just because she knows he doesn't have anything on underneath them.

"Let's go home, Castle."

"After you, Detective. You know, there _is_ a gym in my building," he suggests, waggling his eyebrows.

She laughs and shakes her head like he's the one who's insatiable.

* * *

><p><em>Thoughts?<em>


	5. Private Signing

_A/N: I didn't think I'd manage to get this out, and I haven't edited properly so I hope it doesn't have too many embarrassing typos. :/ I'm also behind on my thank you replies - will catch up this weekend but thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! In case you missed it because of FFnet being down last Friday, it's the one at the precinct gym ;)_

_Warning: Rated M._

* * *

><p>She finds him behind his desk, his good leg propped up on a chair so it's even with his cast. He types away by the light of one low lamp, wearing nothing but his boxers and balancing his laptop on his bare thighs.<p>

Her hair's still damp from the shower, so she sinks into the chair in the corner to finish combing it out, but she keeps her eyes steady on her partner. Her brilliantly devious birthday surprise had broken the dam of Castle's boredom, and the words for his next Nikki Heat came flooding after.

She's surprised at how little she minds waiting, especially in a relationship that's still pretty new. She could just watch him write for hours. Besides, he'd thanked her very thoroughly the night before, and saw her off to work limber and relaxed and ready to haul in a killer. He'd sent her a text an hour before her shift ended to warn her that he'd been writing for hours and might not be able to stop when she got home.

So she settles in to wait patiently. Normally, she'd be in the soft, long t-shirt she keeps next to his stack of boxers, ready for bed, but instead she's put on a black silk shirt with silver snaps instead of buttons. And underneath, a bra - the most ridiculous bra on the planet - one she bought years ago but has never worn because it makes her look almost comically busty.

Twenty minutes later, Castle finally closes his laptop, and Beckett blinks open eyes that had drifted closed. She shakes off the mist of a very satisfying daydream and rises. Stalks over to his desk. In her hand is his latest Nikki Heat. She stares him down, and he gulps.

"Uh, am I in trouble for something I wrote?" he asks.

Beckett sets the book down gently on his desk and slides it towards him. He drags his gaze over her, over the buttons that are straining, into the shadows beyond, and then his eyes land on the book. The cover isn't flat; it's ramped up like there's something just inside the front. Castle opens the book and recognition dawns in his eyes.

It's a black sharpie.

He gets it. Oh, God does he get it.

Beckett quirks an eyebrow at him, challenging.

"It's so wonderful to meet you, Mr. Castle. Your assistant said I could just come in? I hope that's okay?"

"Of course. Where would you like it?" he asks, in the lowest, sexiest growl he's ever uttered those words in.

Beckett's long fingers dance up to the top button of her shirt. With a pop, she undoes the highest one, revealing just a curve of the red lace underneath.

"You can just sign here." she purrs.

"Always a pleasure for a fan, especially one as beautiful as you, Miss…?"

"Kate. You can call me Kate."

"Kate." He tests the name on his tongue like it's brand new. He's so good at this role-playing stuff. "Unfortunately, Kate, I had a tussle with a pair of skis last week. You'll have to come around to this side of the desk so I can reach." He tugs off the cap of the sharpie with a snap.

She catwalks around the desk, and he hears her heels before he sees them. They're red, to match the scarlet edge of the bra, and the underwear he's yet to see. He stares at them for a second, then lets his gaze trail up her long, golden legs, over honey-warm thighs that stem up high, and he chokes on his own tongue when he sees the stupid-small skirt she's wearing. Has she owned that all along? Since he met her? Has it been in his closet? In any case, it's love at first sight.

This isn't really the sort of thing he's ever fantasized about - having a tryst with a scantily clad fan - but he's more than happy to play this game with this particular fan. Not that he doesn't appreciate the chest signings on a purely male ego level. He's Rick Castle, after all; never one to turn down attention. When his first publisher suggested they market to a different demographic than he'd originally had in mind, he'd been pleased at the inundation of gorgeous women. But no one who'd asked to have skin signed also had the presence to draw out his true self. Until now.

And if someone had ever asked him to wager on whether or not Detective Kate Beckett would one day ask him to sign her body, he'd be living in a cardboard box.

Castle angles his wheelchair and levers his good leg to the floor. He gives his knee a little pat. Beckett's laughing eye-roll almost breaks through the sultry veneer of her character. She's so adorably bad at acting. It's a refreshing change from his previous wives. Not that she's his wife. No - not yet - but this is by far the strongest, deepest relationship he's ever been in, and marriage feels inevitable, somewhere in some rich, true part of himself that he doesn't even know exists yet. And damn, the sex is phenomenal - was phenomenal even before they started this Fantasy Fridays thing - and now every time he gets to be inside her it almost obliterates him with pleasure.

She perches on his lap, warm and heavy, and the the pinprick lance of pain down his leg hardly registers. He can only feel her. Her tiny skirt must be riding up high, because one side of his lap is warmer than the other. He's very glad he's only wearing boxers. Where their bare thighs meet, the skin sticks instead of slides, and Castle holds his breath as she wiggles her ass to get her position just right.

Kate's fingers flutter at the edge of her blouse, then she's sliding the fabric down and arching her back to give him the best access to her cleavage. Castle's signed his share of chests, busty, flat, a rainbow of colors, textures, some with less give, some with more. None have been as perfect as the one before him now. He brings the marker up to her skin, can't help but look up at her face, finds her biting her lip and staring at his hand.

It doesn't take long to sign her, leave the scrawl of his name marked on her. The ink glides on smooth and cool, loops and flourishes and all the panache of the public persona he's spent decades creating.

"So, Mr. Castle- "

"Rick."

"Mmm, Rick. Is this where you wrote Heat Wave?" She twists in his lap, runs a finger along the edge of the desk. "Is this where you wrote the infamous tequila scene?"

"As a matter of fact it is."

She traces the edge of his computer with a reverent fingertip. "I've never had a … private signing before." She smiles coyly, and then she's coming for him, a slow lean in until she's close enough to taste. "I hope you don't think it's too crazy to ask for a … little. Tiny. Kiss?"

"Not - no - not crazy."

She rests her lips on his for a split second, soft sweetness breezing over him, before she withdraws.

Lightning quick, he catches her by the neck, fists his hands in her hair as he pulls her back to his mouth, working her lips open, and she's pliant and ready and moving with him like water in one of their trademark make-out sessions. She starts making those noises of hers, little mmms, purring growls, nipping at his lip between swipes of her velvet tongue, and he's completely gone. He likes to think he has some control over himself, but when he's with her, when she anticipates his every need, his every motion, tempo, rhythm, and matches him perfectly, he can only roll in the sensations. He certainly can't think objectively about how to please her. Thank God he seems to get it right even through the haze.

She lifts her weight from his lap, breaks from his lips, and he knows she's either about to plant her knees at his thighs, which is just this side of possible in the wheelchair (they've thoroughly tested) or slide off to lead him to the bed, but he wants to give her more tonight. Especially if her fantasy is him. Rick Castle, the writer. Not the annoying joker who follows her to the precinct, or even the boyfriend who draws her bubble baths and works the kinks out of her shoulders after a tough case. Tonight she wants who she thought he was six years ago.

And the him of six years ago was definitely not wheelchair-bound. It's not like they haven't had sex since his injury - in fact they might be having more than usual because he misses her so damn much when she leaves him all alone at the loft, but the past few weeks have been all about blow jobs (stunning blow jobs) and her on top. He wants to give her what she's really seeking. For her favorite writer to fuck her.

So he uses his considerable upper arm strength to hoist her up off his lap and plonk her down on the edge of her desk. She gasps, half in surprise and half because the surface of the desk is cold on her ass, but before she can move, he grabs her wrist and brandishes the Sharpie once more.

He signs _Rick Castle_ for a second time over the pale blue lines on her wrist, hoping his name follows her pulse up to her heart.

He'd been paying attention when she undid that top snap, and it only takes one tug and a firecracker stream of pops to lay her blouse open wide. He palms her ribcage the way she likes him to, the way that makes her feel delicate and small in his hands. His thumbs drag mercilessly underneath the wire of her bra, and it's almost uncomfortable when he slides his huge hands inside, grabbing the small weight of her breasts and squeezing.

"Mmm. There are the ones I love," he murmurs, and she almost doesn't catch it, or isn't quite sure that she heard right.

"Lay back for me?"

She does.

The cool, wet kiss on her hipbone is all the warning she gets before the whisper sharp sound of ink on skin, and the third _Rick Castle_ graces her body.

And then he's shoving her skirt up and dragging her underwear down her legs. She feels a little awkward, to be honest, laid out on his desk like a feast, but he doesn't give her much time to think about before lifting one leg up, pressing her knee to her chest, and she hears him breathing heavily as he scrawls his name on the underside of her left cheek. It'll be upside-down when she stands up, but she'll remember the predatory gleam in his eye as he marks her a fourth time.

He spreads her legs and signs her again, this time in the crease of her opposite thigh. She feels completely wanton, but she can't help the way she shifts towards him, opens for him like a flower.

And then something's creaking and her eyes fly open to find him struggling to his feet.

"Castle, you're not supposed to be standing without crutches," she hisses.

He doesn't have the wherewithal to argue, or to do much more than shush her gently. His leg throbs in the cast as the blood rushes down, waking up pain receptors and a dull ache that he'll undoubtably regret in the morning, but the sight of her spread out on his desk, wet hair leaving little damp lines in a halo around her, her hand soft and open, palm up over his mousepad… yeah, the sight of her sends an oozing warmth that layers over the pain and drowns most of it out.

Her toes catch the waistband of his boxers and drag them down, one of her weirdly sexy little tricks, and he leaves them at his knees and uses one hand to angle himself down where he'd sprung tightly up against his stomach, and the other to hook behind her knee, taking exquisite aim and taking his sweet time to find her entrance, shove inside, work himself in until he can glide smoothly out and in again.

How have they not had sex on his desk already? They've been dating for months now, and while the office itself has seen plenty of action - on the floor, up against the bookshelves and the window, on the chair in the corner, the desk has escaped their appetites. They'll have to make it a regular in the mix, because it's just the perfect fucking height.

He fucks her slowly, because he can, and because her eyes are milky and unfocused already. All it takes is the press of his thumbs on either side of her clit to make her scream at him for being a tease, and four quick grinding circles to send her over the edge in a tense star-fall of release.

He doesn't want it to be over yet, so he holds on, maintaining an excruciatingly slow pace that matches the throbbing grip and release of her body, and when her eyes finally clear and her color starts to come back, he grabs her ankles, hikes them over his shoulders, and ramps up until the pace is unbelievable, unsustainable. He starts to falter, and his pecs tense, and he knows she can feel him tip over the edge because she's told him how much she loves it - how she can almost feel the sparkles of his ecstasy.

"Sign me again," she pants.

His eyes roll wildly as he tries to process her words, tries to figure out what she means. He reaches for the Sharpie - heaven knows where the cap is now - but she slaps his hand away.

"Sign me again," she repeats, barely audible for all the harsh, heavy breathing from both of them, the swamp of pleasure thick over them.

So he does, filling her once because he can't help himself, then he brings himself out to finish with hot strokes against her belly. He finally stills, shuddering and crumpling over her, smudging the ink at her hip with the evidence of his orgasm.

She holds him tight, their bodies pressed warm together, until she can manage to settle him back into his wheelchair and wheel him to bed.

* * *

><p>The next morning, she rushes into the bistro two blocks over to have lunch with Lanie. She'd barely had time to brush her matted mess of hair, much less take a shower, and she's wearing a turtleneck and a scarf just for good measure.<p>

She bites on a grin as she scans the menu, because she wasn't the only one who got signed last night. When Castle fell asleep after round two, she'd marked him with her careful lettering just above his cock: '_Property of #41319.' _She glances down at her phone, to see if he's made it out of bed yet, anxious for his delight upon discovery.

Lanie knows something's up, of course, but doesn't ask her about it until Kate forgets and rolls up her sleeve to start eating, revealing the very obvious signature on her wrist, belonging to one Rick Castle, master of the macabre.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Wow, I never knew how difficult it was to write exclusively smut! How are you guys liking this series so far? Is it too descriptive and naughty? Or not naughty enough? I feel like a total perv sometimes when I write these, and have to work up my courage to post every week!_

_So I can make sure future chapters are what you want, if you have a second, let me know which one has been your favorite so far: Shower, Car, Workout, or Private Signing. ;)_


	6. Richard Castle, MD

_A/N: Okay… I was going to get a few months into this series before unleashing this chapter on you guys, but I'm running short on concentration this Friday. This chapter has been waiting patiently to see the light, so I polished it up a little bit and decided to just put on my big girl panties and post it._

_This is probably the most extreme idea I have, so if at any point you're not feeling it, please just stop reading this chapter. It's not going to be for everyone. But please don't run away forever, the rest of the series is going to be just as lovely and emotional as the previous chapters. Next week coincides with 'Still', so I'm going to think of a fantasy that ties in nicely as a post-ep for that very intense episode._

_Without further ado, I'm going to scurry over to the corner and hide in abject shame now for having such a naughty naughty imagination._

WARNING: Rated M.

* * *

><p><strong>Fantasy Fridays<strong>  
>Chapter Six: Richard Castle, M.D.<p>

* * *

><p>The Amazon box arrives at the precinct looking more innocent than it has a right to. When the UPS man lets LT sign for it, Castle visibly blanches.<p>

Beckett looks up from her paperwork and startles at the wild panic on her partner's face.

"You okay, Castle? Or should I call you Casper?"

"Hold on, Beckett I just need to, um, get that package."

She watches, bemused, as he skips away from her and pries the cardboard box from LT's paws. She can't make out what they're saying over the rings and murmur of the bullpen at rush hour, but it looks like LT's giving Castle a thorough grilling about what's inside the box. Castle waggles his eyebrows and suddenly LT throws up his hands, giving the box a disgusted stare.

Castle returns to Beckett's desk and shoves the package into the bottom drawer. He's flushed, and his eyes dart around the room, checking if anyone else noticed the exchange.

Beckett smothers a grin. "Putting things in my drawers without asking, Castle?"

His eyes snap to hers, smoldering. "You like it when I put things in your drawers," he says. He's using the tone of voice that makes her need to cross her legs. The one he's not supposed to use at work, but does anyway. Every day. Several times a day.

"So…what did you tell LT was in the box?"

"A year's worth of _Jugs_ magazine and some lotion."

Beckett chokes on her own spit.

"What? I'm supposed to be single," he hisses.

"_Jugs,_ Castle, really?" There's not a trace of insecurity in her voice, just laughter. She's not concerned about her own um, assets, and knows without a doubt that Castle thoroughly enjoys hers. Really thoroughly.

Castle drops his voice even further. "That's not really what's in the box. You know I have very little use for porn these days. Coffee?"

He stands and picks up his mug, but leaves hers on her desk. It's their sign for _meet me in the break room for inappropriate banter and touching. _She follows, eyes rolling at the memory of the day he created what he calls his 'cleverly devised Bat-Signal.'

They stand side by side at the coffee machine, hips bumping, their familiar, delicious low hum of electricity buzzing louder now.

Beckett's the first to speak. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say that the contents of that box are related to our plans for this evening."

"Spot on as usual, Detective."

"You going to tell me what's in there, or does it take two people to use the milk frother these days?"

Castle rolls up his sleeves, and Beckett has to bite her lip not to reach out and stroke the muscles that play under his skin as he works the coffee machine like an expert barista.

"Tonight I'd like to make one of my more ridiculous fantasies come true. It's one of the scenarios I put us in fairly often before we got together."

Beckett blushes. Before they started dating, she'd guessed that he'd spent quite a few evenings thinking less than pure thoughts about her, keeping himself company with the stroke of his own hands. A few weeks into their relationship, he'd confessed just how often. And just how impure. The muscles in her thighs tighten involuntarily.

"And which scenario would that be?" Her voice is embarrassingly hoarse all of a sudden.

Castle angles the frothing wand into the jug of milk and turns it on, the spluttering, mechanical whir drowning out his words to everyone but her.

"Well … I'm a doctor. And you come in for a routine appointment."

Beckett's cheeks flame with conjured images of Castle in scrubs. Of Castle pressing a cold stethoscope to her bare chest, listening to how he makes her heart stutter.

"You got a lab coat in there?"

"Yes," he states, simply. Her stomach tightens with arousal.

"But. Beckett. In my fantasies, I'm not just any doctor. Let me tell you what else is in the box."

He moves behind her then, ostensibly to reach for her cup, but he stops with his arms spanned either side of her. He works around her like she's just the empty space between him and the counter, arms reaching, brushing, bustling. On each pass he gets closer, until his breath is hot on her ear and she can feel him - especially one very warm, firm part of him - pressing against her backside. On each pass he drops a different word.

"Lab coat."

"Latex gloves."

"A water-based lubricant."

_What?_

"Stirrups."

_Oh, holy fuck._

"And a speculum."

She's frozen to the spot. If she moves, if she breathes, she's afraid she'll ignite. Castle steps away and sets her perfect latte down on the counter. There's only one coffee; he didn't make himself one.

"Kate. I'm going to go home and get set up. Text me when you're on your way."

He squeezes her hip, lets his fingers trail across the small of her back as he leaves.

She starts breathing again when she sees the elevator doors close behind him. A shaky sip of her scalding hot coffee brings her back to herself. He knows better than to do this to her at work. Castle has just got himself into big trouble, and he probably knows it, but is counting on this burning hot fantasy to keep her mind off his transgression. Letting her indignation wash the arousal away, Beckett starts plotting her (sexual) revenge.

A gynecologist, hm? She can definitely work with that.

* * *

><p>"A um … Miss Katherine Beckett, please?"<p>

Castle pops his head around his bedroom door as soon as Beckett steps into his foyer and shucks her coat. He's got a clipboard in his hand. He looks kinda … respectable. She'd half expected him not to be wearing anything under his stark white lab coat, but he's in the same dress pants he had on earlier and a powder blue button down.

And a name tag that reads Dr. Richard Castle, M.D.

It makes her want to burst open with light, stunned by how much she adores this silly, ridiculous man.

"That's me," she says, holding up a hand awkwardly like a kid during roll call on the first day of school.

"Right this way, please."

Beckett follows him into his bedroom. Scratch that, the examining room. He's actually hung hospital curtains around his bed. They're sea foam green and patterned with the 'edgy' geometrical shapes of the 80's.

The man does not do anything by half.

Somehow, he's attached metal stirrups to the end of the bed, and he's put a pair of Beckett's own fuzzy socks over them. There are a few pillows stacked in a slope, and she assumes it's so she can watch him work.

"Here's a gown for you to change into. Just let me know when you're ready."

Castle pulls the curtain closed and starts bustling around, whistling over the sounds of metal clinking as he prepares his tools. Kate grins and starts peeling off her clothes. The hospital gown is stereotypically billowy and useless, but for once she doesn't mind.

Beckett lays down on the bed and presses her knees together before calling out to him.

"Um, Dr. Castle? You can come in now."

Castle draws the curtain back and wheels a small metal table closer to the edge of the bed.

"Fantastic. Thanks for filling out the questionnaire the nurse gave you in the waiting room, it saves us a bit of time. I'll just start with a breast exam, if that's ok?"

"Sure."

Kate bites her lip and stares up at the ceiling, trying not to smile. She loves that he doesn't do anything by half, staying perfectly in character as he carefully pulls open her papery gown and exposes her breasts. He's done his research. Goodness knows he loves his research. And goodness knows she loves him.

"So, Miss Beckett, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a homicide detective."

"Interesting," he says, tone detached, like he couldn't possibly care less, when in reality she knows it's the thing he finds most fascinating about her, the thing he's been intrigued by since day one. Moment one.

Castle's warm palm slides over one breast, gently pressing and cupping and probing. It's clinical, methodical and somehow … incredibly hot. He's trying not to stare at her, because that's not what doctors do, but he's failing miserably, and when her skin tightens, nipples responding in a way they never have in a real appointment, he lets himself make his first unprofessional move.

Just before he moves his hand from one breast to the next, he lets his thumb graze across the tip, once, twice, thrumming her, and then he's gone.

Kate holds her breath to keep from gasping and tries not to arch her back to meet his hand when it covers her other breast. He applies the same tender pressure to it, from every angle. At this rate, he won't be needing to use that bottle of lube on his little tray.

"Hmm…" Castle peers down at her nipple with a furrowed brow. "Just need to check - "

He trails off as he circles his fingertips over her, lightly enough to bring her more erect, then he gently gathers her skin between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and pulling this way and that, acting like he's spotted an aberration. Normally, she'd laugh, but she's too swamped with desire even to smirk.

"Thought I saw something, but it's all okay," he reports. "Now if you'll just scoot down a little further and place your feet in the stirrups, I'll start the pelvic exam."

He turns away and Kate uses the moment to take a few deep breaths to collect herself. In an actual doctor's office, she would pull her gown back together to cover her chest, but she leaves it open, partly to tease him but mostly to cool herself down. It had been really, really hard to just lie there while he touched her, and it's only going to get worse.

Castle turns back to her and she realizes there's something else in the room that's really, really hard.

"Okay, if you can just - "

Kate lets her legs fall open, wide, before he can finish his sentence. He gulps, jaw going slack. She loves the effect she has on him, the power she can wield with just her body, and she can't help the self-satisfied little smile that's creeping onto her face.

He regains his composure, but his voice is an octave lower when he speaks. "I assume you've had exams before, but I'll walk you through this anyway. I'll just press on your lower stomach; tell me if you feel any discomfort."

Castle places his fingers to the soft skin just under Kate's belly button and presses, moving from side to side. He's really selling his performance, and she wouldn't put it past him to have called in a favor with one friend or another and actually shadowed a gynecologist so he'd get this right.

"Nope, everything feels fine," Kate reports, her voice husky and sexier than she intended.

Castle nods. "And now I'll insert the speculum and have a look around."

Kate has to close her eyes. He's about to put a foreign object inside her, and that in itself isn't new, but it's never been a medical implement and she can't deny that this whole thing is a little bit weird.

When the cool metal slides into her, she realizes that _weird_ is about to get her off. He takes his time as he presses into her, then he tries to make the most of the moment by shifting around, pulling back a little and pressing in again, and _oh_, she finds herself wishing that he'd just get rid of the bedside manner and start sliding the tool in and out in earnest. But instead he opens the speculum, spreading her wide, but the emptiness is so unlike the way he spreads her with his own body.

She hears his breath catch and she almost lets one foot drop from the stirrup down to his lap to seek the evidence of his arousal.

"Have your previous doctors ever told you that you have excellent natural lubrication?"

Well, that's one way to put it. _"God, Kate, you're so wet,"_ is what she usually hears from him.

"Not my doctors, no," she responds, eyebrow raised.

Too soon, he's pulling the tool out of her. She whimpers softly, starting to get impatient. When's he going to deviate from the textbook?

"Now I'll do a manual inspection."

He turns around and puts on a pair of blue latex gloves just like the ones they wear at crime scenes. That shouldn't turn her on, right? Castle ignores the bottle of lube this time. He looks up at her as he slides two gloved fingers into her, and the air crackles, their characters falling away for a moment as they connect purely as Rick and Kate.

Castle uses his other hand to press down on her abdomen, and she holds her breath. He must be about to touch her poor ignored nerves, he must be about to let go. She's begging him with her eyes.

He strokes his fingers around, swirls, and she watches as his own eyes darken with lust.

And then he withdraws.

"Happy to report that everything looks fine, Miss Beckett."

_What the…? _Did his fantasy seriously not involve a happy ending? Well, too bad, hers does.

"Actually, I had a quick question, Doctor Castle."

"Oh? What's that?"

Kate widens her eyes in feigned innocence. "I think there might be something wrong with me. I keep reading about these G-spot things in magazines, and I tried finding mine, but I didn't have any luck. Can you check for me? Show me where it is?"

Castle swallows. Hard.

"I'd be happy to have a look."

He slides his still-wet fingers back into her, thrusting lazily a few times just for fun, and she clenches around him instinctually. He makes a show of searching for the patch of skin inside that makes her legs twitch and his performance is pretty convincing, considering he's known exactly how to find it in under three seconds since mapping her on the first night they spent together.

"I think it's right here, Miss Beckett, just about an inch and a half in," he says, pressing up maddeningly.

Beckett tries to get her erratic lungs under control. "Gosh, this is really embarrassing. Can I have an … um … orgasm? Just from touching it?

"Not just from touching, you have to … stimulate it."

Beckett's voice slips from virgin to vixen. "And can you tell me how to stimulate it, Doctor?"

"I think it'll be easier if I just show you," he purrs. "In the name of sexual health, of course," he adds in his Doctor voice.

Castle slides his fingers in and out, slowly, a dozen times, before returning to the spot and circling hard. He works her like a professional, watching as her knees knock together and her bare chest flushes with desperation. He knows he can get her off like this, but he also knows how much higher she'll fly if he adds a bit of external stimulation.

"Miss Beckett?" he asks, fingers still working in her.

"What?" she grits out. Her composure is slipping and she's almost forgotten where they are, her whole world narrowed to the sensations he's creating in her.

"Sometimes it helps if the clitoris is stimulated as well. May I?"

"God, yes."

He doesn't need any more encouragement than that. He leans down and flicks his tongue against her clit, strumming the tight nerves as he massages the corresponding internal muscles. She ripples around his fingers.

"Oh, fuck, Cas - Doctor," Beckett pants, "that's amazing, that feels amazing. Don't stop."

The room is charged with their frenetic energy, full of the soft, intimate sounds of his tongue meeting her flesh over and over again. She's about to come, and hard, but it's his fantasy and she doesn't want to be selfish.

"Doctor, I think I need more," she pants. "Deeper."

Castle obliges, plunging his fingers further into her.

"Not enough," she gasps. "Don't you have anything … longer?"

Castle lifts his head, his mouth soft and wet, eyes twinkling. Good. He's caught on.

"Well, there's always _me_, but there are strict rules about doctor-patient contact," he says, eyes wide with faux shock and concern. "I wouldn't want to risk my license."

"I won't tell," she breathes.

"Maybe I could make an exception, then. After all, sexual education is very important."

Castle stands up and kicks his rolling stool across the room. It hits the wall and clatters. He unzips his pants and pulls himself out without ceremony, and Beckett props herself up on her elbows to watch. She's still in the stupid gown and her feet are still in the stirrups, and he looks just as ridiculous in his lab coat, hand wrapped around himself and stroking once, twice, taking the edge of the unbearable ache.

His gaze burns into her as he pulls her hips right off the end of the bed, then he clamps his hands around her ankles and angles his body towards her.

"Are you sure about this, Miss Beckett?"

"Ver-" the breath leaves her body as he shoves into her. They both moan. It's her favorite part, that first intrusion, that exquisite thrust that sends shards of tingling pleasure ripping through her. They're so good together, so good. He's learned her, knows her better than she thought it was possible for someone to know her. It's always the perfect pace, the perfect rhythm, the perfect angle.

He must be reading her mind, because he stops, just for a moment, and when her eyes lock on his, demanding, he moves once, so forcefully, so abruptly that her body moves a foot up the bed and she comes hard around him, and later she'll wonder how every orgasm with him seems longer and harder than every one before. It's a kaleidoscope of bliss, her nerves bursting as tingling stars rush through every muscle in her body.

Instead of going limp, it's one of the rare ones that rev her up, drive her nuts, and she might be on the bottom but she's doing all the work all of a sudden, like some woman gone wild, and Castle trembles above her for a moment before he gets his balance back and leans down to devour her mouth like he's devouring her body.

They keep the blinding pace up for an insane amount of time, rolling and twisting and chasing the rush, until her skin is a uniform of blotched pink and red, until the flopping lock of hair on his forehead is dripping. When it's like this, sometimes it becomes an unspoken challenge as to who can keep the frenetic pace the longest, who looses the rhythm first, whether because they can't breathe and their muscles are failing or who goes over the edge first, and this time it's Castle, Dr. Richard Castle, M.D., who loses both at the same time and collapses on her as his hips jerk frantically, emptying wholly, and the feel of him trembling and gushing sets her off again.

When she catches her breath, when the hideously patterned curtains fade back into focus, she starts giggling. She claps a hand over her mouth, another gripping tightly on his slick shoulder, trying to stifle the shakes of her laughter.

"Katherine Beckett, why are you laughing at me?" he mumbles, his head buried hotly in her neck.

"Not at you, babe. Not at you." She shifts and her foot hits one of the stirrups, and she laughs out loud this time. "I just can't believe we did that."

"I thought it was pretty fun."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I did too. You, uh, better put this stuff in our box, you know."

Castle pops his head up, a huge, boyish grin on his face.

"You'd do it again?"

"Oh, absolutely, Dr. Castle."

* * *

><p><em>?!<em>


	7. Be Still

_A/N: Can I just say: you guys are truly outstanding. I adore you all. This is the first place that I've felt safe enough to share my ideas, and everyone has been so supportive and open. Thank you endlessly for that._

_As I'm attempting to match up with the chronological order of the show (Caskett instituted Fantasy Fridays after 5x17, and I'm working on the basis that Still comes before Squab), this is a post-ep for Still._

WARNING: Rated M.

* * *

><p><strong>Fantasy Fridays<strong>  
>Chapter Seven: Be Still<p>

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_When I was vulnerable, you were strong."_

The adrenaline lasts for about an hour after she's safely off the trigger plate and out of the building. Long enough to make it through Ryan taking her statement in the conference room. Just long enough to sign the documents that need signing and delegate the rest of the closure paperwork to her colleagues. Barely long enough to make it down to street level and into the town-car Castle has waiting for them.

He's been at her elbow the whole time, poised as if he's been expecting her to stumble, to crumple. Normally it'd annoy her, but he did something extraordinary today, so she keeps the admonitions in her chest, where they build alongside the tension of the hideously close call. She won't tell him yet that she likes the safety net. She's also not entirely sure she won't pass out every time she stands up from a chair.

And then, cruelly, when they get to her building, they find the elevator out of service. She searches for a scrap of the giddy elation she'd felt when she finally got to step off that plate and fall into her partner's arms. Unfortunately, all of the adrenaline is gone, slumbering somewhere near her knees.

Castle frowns at the elevator doors.

"It's fine. Honestly, Castle, I'm fine. Come on," Kate says, heading for the stained stairwell door. She can handle some stairs. It's not like she really _did_ anything today anyway; she didn't have to chase a suspect for eight blocks or wrestle a murderer to the ground to slap cuffs on him. Just had to stand still.

She does, however, regret the shoes. She hopes Castle isn't in the room when she takes them off because her feet are hot and swollen, and because of the wedge heel, her toenails are grinding into her flesh.

Instead of watching her ass like he usually does when he's behind her in a stairwell, he's trying to watch her shoulders, to gauge how irregular her breathing is, because it looks like she's biting back pain, struggling to keep her lungs working only shallowly. Should he be worried about blood clots or something? On the fifth step her knee locks up. He doesn't wait for her to shrug it off. He scoops her legs out from under her, drapes her across his arms like jeans on a drying rack. He knows it must be bad because she goes limp, tucks herself into his broad chest, and just lets him carry her up. He's proud that he doesn't stumble, and even though he's winded when he sets her down outside her door, she doesn't tease him, just smiles; simple, tired and grateful.

"Okay, so you need food, and a hot bath. Ooh, and that bubble bath I got you with the arnica and comfrey stuff!" He babbles as he swirls into her apartment. The melancholy space expands with his energy. He makes a detour through the kitchen and grabs her takeout menu folder, then jogs into the bathroom. The hot water roars, pummeling the shell of her tub. She realizes she's been standing inside the door just staring blankly after him, so she blinks and starts to move again. She gingerly rolls her shoulders back and starts to unbutton her shirt.

Yin and Yang, she thinks. How they can come out of a day like today, one on turbocharge, the other in molasses. Before him, she'd had close calls. Maybe not quite as dramatic, but she'd had days on the job that made her wonder how she made it out alive. And after those days, she'd stumble into her apartment alone, turn off the lights, peel off all her clothes, fling herself face-down on her bed, and will herself to sleep for a full ten hours to avoid dealing with her own mortality. If that didn't work, on a few occasions she'd broken down and taken a sleeping pill, but there was never food, never warmth, never company.

Castle peels her shirt off gingerly, unhooking her bra and lifting it away from her body, smoothing the angry red lines on her ribcage, perhaps for the first time without that naughty gleam in his eye. Although she might have missed it - she's so out of it. Thankfully, she's not too out of it to shoo him away so she can sit down and take off her boots.

She slides down to her chin in the tub. It feels so good that she dips the rest of the way in, lets the water closing over her scalp. Is this what it would have felt like? In the last fraction of a second of her life, between being blown to bits and being gone?

The phantom sound of her ringtone breaks through the pulsing peace she's found under the water. She's not sure that it's real; the sound is so familiar, so expected that it sometimes whispers against her eardrums in strange moments.

But it's followed by the arduous creak of her bathroom door and the distorted echo of footsteps thudding towards her. When she slides up out of the water, Castle's kneeling by the bath with her phone in his hand, unanswered.

"Uh, Kate? It's your dad."

She blinks slowly, once, twice. It's taking so long to process his words, even longer to look into herself and make a decision.

"I can - should I just answer it then?" he asks.

She nods, relieved that he's made the choice for her.

"Yeah. Okay, I can do that." He taps the screen as he rises, shutting the door firmly behind him as he leaves the bathroom, and she hears him calling her dad by his first name. It occurs to her that for a moment, her dad will be terrified it's bad news, but she just doesn't have enough energy to placate him, and she trusts Castle to assure him that she's safe and whole.

She falls asleep in the bath, and she doesn't come around until Castle strokes her face and whispers that he's going to help her out. He's thoughtfully turned off the glaring overhead light, but she keeps her eyes closed anyway. He wraps a towel around her hair and dries her body off as she sways on her feet. He doesn't linger, doesn't let her stay standing for long, just carries her to bed, where she promptly falls asleep again.

When she wakes up it's dark. Her hair's not in the towel anymore, and when she turns her head she feels the sleek waves of it combed flat. He combed her hair. While she was sleeping.

What she would have missed if she'd died today.

She looks at the clock, calculates how much more sleep she can get away with before needing to get up for work, and it's then that she realizes it's Friday. And strangely, it's that that does it for her, that uncorks the shock, the fear, the black grip of facing her own mortality.

She turns into the warmth of her partner, her lover, and finds his eyes open and staring at her.

She sniffles, tries to stifle the first sob, and he pulls her into him, cradles her head in his hands.

"Hey, shh, shh, you're okay."

"But - " she inhales with an unattractively wet noise. "But it's Friday."

He looks at her like she's lost her mind.

"It's Friday, Castle."

"Yeah, I know - oh...Friday," he says, putting the pieces together. "Hey, don't worry about that. There are plenty of other Fridays for us now. Remember? Just getting started, Kate."

"I just - if we'd been blown up today - we would have missed all those Fridays."

Castle sucks in a ragged breath of his own, because he knows just how lucky they are that in a few hours the sun will rise on this particular day for them.

Kate presses her fingers against her eyelids until the pressure counteracts the headache building behind her eyes. "I can't even think right now. Can't even remember anything on my list of fantasies."

Castle doesn't say anything, just levers himself up on his arm, coming down to kiss her, soft and warm, on lips that had trembled when she'd told him to leave her to die.

She reaches up, weaves her fingers through his hair, tugs so that his body falls over hers. She shifts her legs open so he's lying between them, and she makes a mental note to move her full-length mirror out of the corner so that she can watch him work over her. For now, she'll have to satisfy herself with sliding her hands over the tight muscles in his lower back, over the luscious curve of his ass. She would pay good money for a picture of them now, her legs parted around him, that amazing ass on display.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs.

"I'm just a little sore. Nothing I haven't been before." She smiles coyly. "Usually it's you who's made me sore." In fact, it feels weird to be so achy everywhere except between her legs. Her shoulders are still heavy from wearing the Kevlar and her thighs feel like they've spent an hour under a meat tenderizer, but the bath and the way he's stretching her with his weight is going a long way towards healing her.

She draws him down again, fastens her mouth to his. It's slow, sure, a reaffirmation of this terrifyingly deep thing they have between them, and she feels him harden between her thighs. His chest is mashing her down into the mattress, flattening her breasts, and she didn't realize it, but it really has been a long time since they've had vanilla sex.

She's not really the type to just lie back and think of England, so she brings her legs up around him, hooking her heels over his tailbone, rubbing herself over his length, lubricating him, teasing him, persuading him to enter her.

He lets more of his weight fall onto her as he returns the favor, gliding over her, thrusting even though he's not inside yet, and he catches her clit with the tip of his cock. She gasps, half out of pain, half out of pleasure.

"Ah - thighs - "

"Cramps?" Castle starts to pull back, but she wraps her arms around his neck and forces him back down.

"No. Just feels really good to stretch them."

He props himself up on one arm and uses the opposite hand to push her knee to the mattress, rolling into her, stretching her muscles out even more, fingers kneading into the tight flesh.

He runs his hand up over the curve of her ribcage, snagging her arm and pinning it above her, stretching her on the rack of his body, hooking his feet around hers and pulling her taut and long under him. He puts all his weight on her then and kisses her, finding her other hand and pinning them both above her hand. He seeks out her hot, wet entrance with the part of him that belongs there.

He bumps against her once, and she shudders, straining to open for him, as if just the wanting of him could draw him in. He nudges against her again, a little harder. Again. And then he thrusts in earnest, one harsh, fast swing that has them both crying out. Then stillness. Then again, hard. He's trying to fit his whole soul inside her body. The third time he crushes himself into her, she starts to cry. It's something that's only happened once before, on the night she came to his door. She'd had wet hair then too. It's a strange grief, just the tingling prick of tears behind her eyes as the overwhelming gratitude she has for this man swamps her, the pleasure taking over her.

"Kate." His voice is rough, concerned. She looks up at him and strokes her thumb over his cheek, seeing his pity through her tears. His manly uncertainty about what they mean, what to do.

"Just keep going, Castle. Just feels perfect, that's all. Just missed you."

"I've been here the whole time."

"I know," she says before she kisses him to shut him up, to get him moving again. She doesn't know if she should explain that somehow, she'd felt what it would be like to miss out on her life. She hadn't known she'd be capable of that - of grieving for her future. Because she'd never really had a future. Not like this.

* * *

><p>Castle rolls off of her slowly, but she follows, wanting to breathe with him as they come down from the high together. He lets her lie on him, clamps one hand over her hip possessively, the other tight on her neck.<p>

There's so much more he wants to do with this woman. 'Had a good run', she'd said today. _Fuck it. _He's had her in his life for almost five years, had her close enough to kiss for less than one, and it doesn't even take the edge of the hunger he has for Kate Beckett. Not just for the spectacular sex, but for the sustenance her mind, her spirit gives his. For the love they've created, for the tight bond that holds them up both up when one is down.

He wants to marry her. He's thought about it before, been lulled into daydreams of it, but he's struck with it, feels it now viscerally.

_Slow down, Rick. _She hasn't even agreed to move in, despite your subtle nags. Hell, their relationship is still a secret - on paper at least, and only half of the people on their floor at the precinct have figured it out after running into them flushed and flustered after a quick make-out session in the parking garage or the stairwell.

So even though he's seized by the desire to put a ring on it this very second, maybe he needs to hold off on sharing that thought. He squeezes her once more, _love you_, _Kate_, and passes out from sheer emotional and physical exhaustion.

* * *

><p>When she's sure he's asleep, she inhales the salty smoothness of his bare chest, and then begins to whisper against him.<p>

"You. This. It's my fantasy."

She doesn't need the costume or the creative locations. If she was only allowed to have missionary sex in a bed for the rest of her life, as long as it's with Richard Castle, she'll be happy.

The rest is icing.


	8. Until You Break

_A/N: Massive thanks to uofmcowgirl for her inspirational ideas and a much-needed pep talk this week. I will be forever thankful that writing for this fandom has put me in touch with such awesome chicas like her._

_Episode Tie-In: 5x22 The Squab and the Quail_

Warning: Rated M

* * *

><p><strong>Fantasy Fridays<strong>  
>Chapter Eight: Until You Break<p>

* * *

><p>There must be a concert or something nearby, because there hadn't been an inch of parking space to be found within three blocks of where Castle asked her to meet him. And she's very good at parallel parking. She could double-park, claim later that she was on duty, but it's more trouble than it's worth. The walk will do her good, even though the cool of twilight is descending.<p>

She's been holed up in her apartment for two days, and somehow, after a decade of being completely okay with that, she's sick of being alone. She'd told Castle that she just needed to get some things done - pay bills, do laundry and stuff - but really she'd just been sick of his pouting and his sudden inferiority complex. His stupid attempts to impress and pamper her, even though Eric Vaughn wasn't there to compete against anymore. And now, after only two freaking days alone, she's just sick of herself. Annoyed that she still needs him so damn much. She'd woken up with a dream of him still fresh on her lips. The tingle between her thighs hadn't subsided until she'd shaken it off with a run in Central Park.

She's obviously been spoiled if she can't survive a few days without sex.

She plows through the Friday night crowds, the clack of her heels on the filthy pavement a determined march that contrasts the bendy-legged swagger of a group of club-hoppers.

She thought she could just gloss over it, shut down the emotions that surged up when he'd completely ignored her after she'd asked where they were going. Some small part of her yelled _'I told you so! S_he'd promptly clamped down on 'd resisted her feelings for so long, because he hurt her so badly that summer after Tom, and because of his reputation. It would be crushing to find out that he hadn't changed as much as she thought he had.

Could he be tired of her already? When she's so very, very far from being tired of him? Could it have been more about the chase, the capture, and now that he's won her, the thrill's gone? Well, she sure as hell isn't going to put out until she's convinced that that isn't the case.

Besides, what the hell is she doing here, meeting him on a street corner like a hooker?

She's so lost in her own steaming thoughts that she misses their rendezvous point and has to double back past a few buildings. She scans the intersection, the crosswalks and corners, but she doesn't see him anywhere.

She blows her hair out of her eyes and pulls her phone out to text him when she feels a hand at the small of her back.

"Whoa. Jumpy, Kate?"

She spins to find her boyfriend with his hair perfectly gelled, in a vibrant blue shirt that he _knows_ gets to her, and that just fuels the fire. She bites out at him.

"What's going on, Castle?"

He looks a bit taken aback, just for a flash, before he recovers his charm and offers his arm.

"Just go with it, okay?"

"It's not your turn. Tonight's supposed to be my fantasy." She won't admit to him that she hadn't been in the mood to plan anything.

"Uh, let's have a week off, okay? Just hang out?"

He brings his other hand up, strokes his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles, and if she wasn't at war with herself already, she certainly would be now.

They walk in silence a block further, and the atmosphere of the street changes, the saturated yellow wash turning to the clean, white light spilling from one of New York City's finest hotels. He wonders how he figured out that it's her favorite one.

It's not the Fairwick, where she'd stayed with Vaughn, but she can see this little charade for exactly what it is. She stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and a few people grunt as they push around them, an island in the nightlife of the city.

"Seriously?!"

"What?"

"Castle, you don't have to do this. Can we just go back to your apartment?"

"We could, yeah. But I want to be with you, and you deserve to be treated to something nice every now and then. Is that a crime?"

"No, but you don't have to throw your money around just to prove yourself. I know that this is still about Vaughn. Don't pretend that it isn't."

Castle's an idiot if he thinks she'd been dazzled by Vaughn's money. She'd rather be with her partner in a cardboard box than with anyone else in the penthouse suite. Even if it means she's insane for thinking it. But if she told him that now, it'd give him the upper hand, and she's feeling pathetically way more invested in the relationship than he is already. Obviously. All he wants to do is play. Play video games, play with her, play their little fantasy game. She needed a serious answer from him and he sidestepped. And then he'd given her that stupid massage, and her body had gone limp and buzzing under his touch, and even though her mind was screaming that it was stupid, she'd let him make love to her.

_Sent the wrong message there, Kate. _Not much point in withholding sex now, he won't have a clue what she's upset about.

He seems to notice that she's pissed off. Finally.

"Kate, I'm not entirely sure what I've done wrong, but will you humor me for an hour? Come up to the room? If you still want to go back to mine, or yours, after an hour, we can."

She nods curtly. She follows him through the hotel doors, through the plush, starlight twinkle of the lobby, and watches stone-faced as he retrieves the keycard from the concierge, nodding when the man tells him that their bags are already waiting for them upstairs. Because of course he packed her a bag - there's enough of her stuff at his loft for it. He knows exactly what she needs for a night away from home now. No one's ever known that before. Ever.

She's silent in the elevator, and she knows she's sabotaging this, knows that she's the one that's making it difficult, and when she looks over at him he's staring blankly at the panel of buttons. She can hear his cogs turning, that fascinating mind processing, trying to understand what's motivating her, how he should react. She wants to shrug off the anger, more than anything, but it's fizzling and building and she just wants to _slap_ him or something. He's being an idiot and he needs to be _punished_.

Whoa. She's not sure where that came from. But it gives her an idea. The corner of her mouth tilts up slyly, but he doesn't notice, fixated as he is, and when the elevator doors slide open on the top floor, right into the room because of course he reserved a room that is as large as an entire floor, she stalks straight to the phone.

She's been to enough hotels with him to know that he makes it a point to know and trust the concierge before arriving. What she's about to ask for might even be something he's requested before, for all she knows.

"Hello - yes, everything's fine, thanks. Mr. Castle would like some handcuffs brought up please."

Castle sputters, and she claps a hand over his mouth.

The voice on the other end of the phone is still talking, and she presses the phone to her ear to catch it.

"What? Um, okay. Thank you. Sorry to trouble you."

She hangs up the phone, glares at Castle, and opens the drawer under the phone.

Where there are several lengths of black silk and a pair of handcuffs.

"What?" he whines. "They're our favorite toys, I don't go anywhere without them! Why are you so mad at me?"

She plucks the handcuffs out of the drawer and shoves him backwards until he falls onto the bed.

"I don't know, but I am. And so help me, I've missed being with you." She can't explain it without risking her heart. But she does know that the immediate problem, his behavior, can be fixed pretty easily. "You need to stop with all this. I don't want Vaughn's shadow hanging over us. Shit, we shouldn't even be saying his name right now."

"I'll stop. Okay, I'll stop," he says, and then she crawls over his body and he lurches up to kiss her. She almost gets lost in it for a second, but then she remembers that she's in charge tonight. Has to be. Or she'll be too weak against him. Someone once told her that in relationships, there's always one person who loves the other person more. And she's so besotted with Castle that she must be the underdog. It doesn't settle well with her, being the weak one.

She shoves his wrists above his head, jerks the cuffs onto one. Threads them through the ironwork of the headboard, then closes them around his other wrist.

"What are you going to do to me?" he asks, eyes sparkling with a humor that barely masks his arousal.

"I'm going to take what I want from you."

She strips him quickly and efficiently, leaving his shirt tangled at his elbows, then climbs off the bed to shed her own clothes.

She crawls back on like some kind of feral cat, then swings a leg over him.

"What, no fore - " she sinks down onto him in one harsh glide, cutting him off with a groan.

"Not a chance," she rasps.

And then she rides him until they break. Like a woman possessed. He wonders if she even knows it's him under her.

She makes him wait when she feels that he's close, pulls off of him and grabs his ears, kissing him fiercely until he's got his control back. She makes him watch while she touches herself, and then finally, finally, only after he begs, she climbs back onto him.

It doesn't take long after that.

She collapses on his chest, feels his heaving breaths rock her like the ocean. They lay like that until they calm. He combs his fingers through her hair, and something's off - she's missing something -

His fingers. In her hair. But he's cuffed to the bed. Was cuffed?

Before she can raise her head, her world tumbles and rolls and then she's the one bearing the weight of him, pressing her hotly into the mattress, and her arms are stretched out above her head.

The click of metal sounds so final as the cuffs close around _her _wrists.

"What the hell?"

"Yeah…you didn't think I'd bring cuffs that I couldn't get out of, did you?" Castle waggles the key that he must have had hidden somewhere, then tosses it over the side of the bed where it lands on the carpet with a small thud.

"You know, Beckett, you've never gone all … angry on me before. It was kind of hot. But I think I have a little anger I need to get out of my system too. So now it's my turn to take what I want."

She wriggles underneath him and he slams her hips against the bed.

"I didn't help you bring those walls down just so Eric Freaking Vaughn could waltz right in. You put in most of the work, Kate, but I put a lot in too."

She's still reeling from the power shift. His eyes flash dangerously, the lines on his face deeper and darker, and she feels her pulse jump up again, her body suddenly taut and humming for round two.

"You know, you're kind of sexy when you're pissed off," she hums, craning her neck up to catch a kiss. "I just don't really get why _you're_ pissed off."

"I'm pissed off because you're _mine,_" he growls.

She wants to argue, because she's not a piece of property to be owned, but fuck, her heart does completely belong to him and she doesn't have the energy to argue.

"You're mine," Castle continues, "and he tried to coax you away, charm you into his ivory tower."

She'd laugh at his dramatics if she didn't see the well of hurt underneath. Is it possible that their relationship is an exception to the rule? That he's just as invested? That he feels out of his element and weak sometimes with it? She wants to believe that. Or maybe that they take turns being the one with the upper hand, the one who's more in love.

He slinks down her body, dropping kisses along the way, and when he licks her it's rough and perfect and so skilled that she's lost again, completely his puppet as he brings her to an exquisite, shimmering orgasm under his tongue.

"Still want to go home?" he asks.

She shakes her head, half to answer him and half to clear the haze.

He kisses her sweetly. He's a sappy guy, her Castle, and this is usually when he tells her that he loves her, but neither of them seem to be ready to give in, to admit that they are one another's everything. The anger's gone but the fear is still there in both of them. Neither of them know that the other one wants this to be forever. The misunderstanding lies like a heavy cloud between them.

And then she flips him. Sends the cuffs flying across the room, where they land with a clatter on a pointless glass table.

Castle gasps like a schoolgirl. "What the - "

"You're not the only one who can pick locks."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Once we get clear of the finale arc, we'll get back to some lighthearted wild romps._

_Thoughts?_


	9. Not So Bad Yourself

_A/N: Thank you immensely for your responses so far. This chapter clears up the Season 5 finale arc and is quite fluffy. We'll be back to completely smooth, sexy sailing next week. I also want to apologize for springing that unexpected angst on you guys in the last chapter. It's unfortunately where our beloved show went and therefore where the writing took me. But hey, without the clouds we wouldn't appreciate the silver linings! :)_

_That being said, for this chapter I tried to get into Beckett's head for Watershed, but I just couldn't make the puzzle pieces click. So, instead of delving into all that messiness, let's pick up after the proposal._

_WARNING: RATED M._

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><p><strong>Fantasy Fridays<strong>  
>Chapter Nine: Not So Bad Yourself<p>

* * *

><p><em>"<em>I'm telling you, that fan with the scary biceps? She must have been a cyborg. Nobody has skin that firm," Castle shudders visibly. "I'm sure I could feel some metal plates under there when she made me sign her 'guns.'"

Kate snorts, holding back her laugh even though they're the only two in the elevator. She's purposefully standing a few feet away from him. It's unusual for them; they've found over the last year that a lot can be done with a few seconds of privacy in an elevator. When they're at the precinct it's where they can reconnect as a couple if a case starts to make them forget they're more than just partners.

So it's weird, this space between them. But it's okay, because they're doing it on purpose. They're doing a different kind of role-playing today. It's awkward, yeah, but it's sort of delicious too, trying to act like the opposite of what they are.

And then the elevator doors slide open on the vibrant street-style mural painted on familiar hotel walls, and the gravity hits. Years of waiting and wanting, and it almost happened here. She aches for their missed opportunities.

"After you," Castle says as he sticks a clumsy hand out to keep the doors open.

She drags her carry-on down the hallway and tries not to think about how just a few days ago she'd used it to go to D.C. But this time it's full of swimsuits and floaty dresses, not the crisp white shirt and severe suit that she'd worn in the interview.

Everything is different now. Everything. And in honor of it, they've decided to take a little trip - not just to the other side of the country, but into their own history.

She'd woken up beside him yesterday - the day after he'd proposed to her - feeling lighter and surer of herself than she'd felt in a long time.

Castle wanted to be with her. Seriously be with her. He wanted to _marry _her, and it had healed wounds she didn't even know she had. She'd been so afraid to tell him that marriage, or at least some sort of promise of forever, was what she really wanted. All that work, all for him, and she was still holding back. Maybe they'll laugh about it a few years down the road, but for now she's just annoyed at herself.

She'd woken with the imprint of her ring sore on her cheek, and she'd taken a moment just to watch her sleeping partner. His face was more relaxed than it had been in days. She'd traced the crags and lines of it, musing that they matched the sexy rumble of his voice perfectly. She realized that they hadn't really had a chance to sit down and talk. She hadn't had a chance to properly apologize. So she'd woken him up with warm kisses, on his eyebrows, the tip of his nose, those soft, lopsided lips, and told him she wanted to go somewhere with him. Just for a few days. Gates had already beamingly accepted her notice and she had some vacation time in reserve. She didn't need to actually go into the precinct again until her last day, when she'd have to turn over her badge and her gun.

She had a lot to do, a lot of logistics to work out regarding the move to D.C., but the plans could wait a few days. She needed to spend some time with him. With her fiancé. Work past the disaster of this week. Get back on solid ground.

He'd agreed immediately, latching on to the idea that it was a good way to celebrate their engagement. She could tell he'd been touched that she even thought of it. And when he'd told her where he wanted to go, told her about this fantasy, something had pulled in her heart. Not to mention other places. Because she remembers all too clearly the nights they spent in this hotel - in separate rooms - with longing thick in the air around her and her bed achingly empty.

She stares at her ring again. It's so heavy, so gigantic that she wonders how she'll ever get used to wearing it. She'd felt like half of the people at the gate in La Guardia were plotting ways to steal it, but it was probably just cop paranoia and the newness of the rock on her finger.

Castle stands outside the door to their suite and flips the keycard over in his hand. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah. I think it's a great idea," she assures him.

They open the doors and the L.A. sun floods through the room to greet them.

* * *

><p>After dinner - at Drago, of course - she undresses carefully, with the doors to the living area closed tightly and her bag open on the bed. They're pretending like they're staying in separate rooms, so she's in the same one she was in two years ago.<p>

She finds her soft purple trapeze top and slides it on, feeling comfort fall over her like a blanket. It's what she wore that night - the night that they missed each other. She knows that's what he wants to recreate. Only this time, he wants to rewrite their ending.

She slides out of her room and closes the door softly. It's quiet, and there's a sort of magic to the night, to the clear sparkle of the beachfront stars beyond the wall of windows. The lights are low and Castle's on the couch, sitting exactly where he'd sat before, in exactly the same plaid shirt. Something does a loose flip in Kate's belly. Those tingles of almost unbearable nervous arousal haven't wrecked her body in a long time, but they're so familiar. After all, she'd lived with them for years. It got to a point where she'd start to physically shake if she was in his loft alone with him, the chemicals in her body reacting to him like a pot of water over a flame. She'd lived in a constant state of being flushed and pink, before she'd even really realized it was love.

Castle's eyes are soft, his smile timid as he pats the cushion next to him to invite her over. She can tell he's feeling some of the same memories swamp over him.

"Thanks for dinner," she says, sinking down next to him.

"Anytime," he says.

It's enlightening, playing this game, seeing what's changed over the past year. She still thanks him for dinner, in the same words, but somehow a completely different way. In New York, they go home together after dining out. She doesn't think about what to put on for bed other than to find something that she feels like wearing, regardless of it's skimpiness.

They'd have wine, like they do now, but her feet would already be in his lap. Hell, she'd probably already be in his lap.

Castle watches as her eyes fall to his shirt, sparking with recognition, and he almost chokes when she bites her lip. He's sure she doesn't realize she does it half the time. She certainly doesn't realize what it does to him.

He looks at her in turn, strokes his gaze over where her breasts look soft and tempting, just like they had last time - not that he'd been looking - okay, he'd been looking - and he forces himself to reach for their two wine glasses. He gives her one, nearly sloshing the liquid over her chest in his haste, and she tucks a grin into herself.

They both take long, deep sips, more for nerves than thirst, and when their eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, she hums.

"What?"

"Just trying to remember what you said."

"I think I can probably pull it up out of the old memory bank."

"Writer," she murmurs. As if she doesn't remember every word too.

"So. You ready?" He reaches out, rubs his thumb along her jaw, and even though her eyes close and she tilts her head into the caress, she stops him.

"No touching yet."

He nods. Takes a deep breath.

"You know what I thought when I first met you?"

She doesn't have to act. His words have even more of an effect on her now that they did then. Her eyes burn with the kind of tears that she won't shed. Ones that come when a memory catches you by the heart and squeezes.

"That you were a mystery I was never gonna solve. Even now, after spending all this time with you, I'm still amazed at the depths of your strength, your heart."

His eyes are so open, so welcoming, so safe, just like they were then. She doesn't dare blink, doesn't dare look away until he's finished, watching for every tide of emotion in them, reveling in the feel of her own.

And then there's that cheeky glint that she loves in spite of herself.

"And your hotness."

"You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

She smiles, keeps his gaze, feels the same tug, the same desperate desire to kiss him. She'd known back then that he'd wanted to. It was written all over his face. But he hadn't leaned in. He'd waited for her to make the first move, and she'd chickened out.

"I wanted to kiss you," he says.

"I know."

"God, I so wish you'd wanted to kiss me. In your eyes - for a second - I thought you did."

"I did. I did want to kiss you," she confesses. "Desperately," she whispers, blinking once with the honesty of it. "What do you think it would have been like?"

Her heart is thudding, pulsing so hard he can probably see the throbbing veins in her throat.

She's hypnotized, and he is too, something connecting in their gaze that brings the world down to the single, invisible line that ties them together.

He moves carefully, slowly, leans towards her. Her eyelids flutter but she fights to keep them open. He brings his thumb up to her jaw again.

"Now?"

He doesn't wait for her answer. Just curves his palm around under her ear, lets his lips slide in to land on hers, just gently parted to meet her own. At first it's one long press, unmoving, this joining, so tender, so reverent. And then it's slow, sweet, careful. The rush that builds to a heady roar as he breathes in all her oxygen, and a full wave of love rushes down through her. It's exactly like what she imagined it would have been like had it happened, on this couch, in this city, two years ago, and it seals up something inside her that had been hurting.

It's one of those kisses that seem to last forever, boring to watch from the outside, but every millimeter of movement is felt keenly by both of them. They finally part just enough for their lips to separate, and Castle presses his forehead to hers, runs his hand from her neck down the length of her back and up again. The shiver it brings makes her impatient, and she blindly seeks his mouth again.

The second kiss is more urgent. Just a little at first, until it crescendoes, and suddenly it's not at all like it would have been back then because she's sure they would have gone slow, needed time to learn each other, but know they have a year's experience under their belts and they know exactly what works. So when she curls her fingers around his ears he grabs her hips and hauls her onto his lap, and suddenly the innocence of love ignites into lust when she feels him through her thin black leggings, long and hard and arching up for her.

She grinds on him as she kisses him, drawing out his moans like some kind of sweet torture.

"Fuck, we're good at this," he breathes around her mouth, and she can't think clearly enough to express her agreement. She loves to move - loves to move on his lap and he knows it, and his hands on her tighten as he shifts her to one side, positions her directly over one thigh. He flexes his muscles as she rolls herself over him, uses his palms around her waist to press her down even harder.

"Oh, God," she chokes out. It's the only warning he gets before she splinters, stiffens. She comes on his thigh. They're both still wearing every article of their clothing.

She hides her flushed face in his shoulder and starts to giggle.

"I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have happened quite like that," he grins.

She pulls back, looks at him with huge, adoring eyes. "No?"

"I would have wanted to draw it out. Maybe I would have pulled you onto my lap, but then I would have picked you up. Carried you to the bed."

He slides his hands under her ass and does just that.

He throws her down on the bed and she bounces twice, laughing.

"I probably wouldn't have done that either, actually," he says, looking sheepish. "Remember in the beginning, when I was so careful with you?"

"Too careful," she agrees.

"And you told me you wouldn't break."

"Haven't yet."

"I would have unpeeled you, layer by layer, kissed every inch of your skin, because it would have all been new to me."

He gently moves the hem of her shirt up, rakes his fingertips so lightly over her belly that she jumps. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her leggings, drags them down slowly.

He shivers when he sees that she's not wearing anything underneath them. Her heat rises, a sweeter scent than anything he's ever known. She's wearing his ring now and he gets to have that forever.

"God, Kate, were you wearing anything under your leggings two years ago?"

"Disappointingly, yes."

"A thong?" he asks hopefully.

"Nope. I was wearing very sensible underwear. I didn't tonight because I knew I'd be impatient."

Castle lowers his face, rubs his chin over the top of her thigh.

"Impatient for what?"

"Don't make me say it."

"Say what?"

"Cas - oh," she finishes his name on a moan as his tongue lands on her, hot and broad and rough. Her hands slap to his head and she holds his ears as he drags his tongue up and down each fold, into her, around her clit. He brings her to her second orgasm in an embarrassingly small amount of minutes.

This time she doesn't go limp. She goes wild. She tears his clothes off and he's nothing but agreeable about it, helping whenever she lets him. His cock is aching now, used to getting more instant gratification, but she's oh so worth it. It's so worth it to pretend it's the first time.

"Would you have let me be on top that first time?"

"I did when you came to the loft, didn't I?"

"I'd have wanted to be." Instead of flipping him like she does most often, she rolls him over carefully.

"You know what? This is fun and all, but I want to have sex with my fiancé now if that's alright."

He grabs her hands, feels the hard edge of her engagement ring and gets lost in the joy of that for a moment. It distracts him for long enough that when she sinks onto him it's a hot, sweet surprise.

She leans down over him, pressing grateful kisses to his neck, his face. All the while their hands are woven together tight.

"I love you." She starts saying it, over and over again, like the proposal has let out the flood of all the I love you's that she's tried to hold back over the year for fear of driving him away.

She realizes now that that was silly. He always wanted them.

* * *

><p><em>AN: These chapters never turn out the way I think they're going to when I sit down to write them! Must learn how to control my tone. This one was so fluffy, and it's supposed to be a sexy romping series! Sigh._

_Let me know what you think._


	10. One Way Mirror

_A/N: Can you believe this is the 10th chapter? I'm going to have to fix typos in the morning because zzzz I'm about to collapse. Happy Friday, lovely people!_

_WARNING: RATED M._

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><p><strong>Fantasy Fridays<strong>  
>Chapter Ten : One Way Mirror<p>

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><p>It's close to midnight when Castle picks her up at the airport. New York City is alive with light and vibration. Kate hasn't had much time to explore D.C., but it seems more dignified than New York; a little less colorful. She's missed her city. And her fiancé. She glances over at him, mesmerized by the way he handles the steering wheel. She's usually the one driving them places, and she's never noticed how casually he drapes his fingers over the leather as he mans it with one hand. It reminds her of … things. He certainly does have talented fingers.<p>

As he navigates through the ever-present traffic, she gets an idea. She thought she'd be too tired to do anything other than fall into bed - she'd even texted Castle from the departure gate to warn him that he might have to wait until morning for other 'activities' - but being back in her loud, pulsing city has given her second wind. She winds her fingers between Castle's, and he takes a moment to shift his gaze from the road to her face. His smile feels like home. He looks so eager, so sweet, and she knows he's been dying to touch her for the past two weeks. She can perk herself up and give him a good night. It is Friday, after all.

"Hey Castle?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you still a member of the Verit Club?"

He coughs. "You have an outstanding memory, Beckett."

"Yeah, well, I don't remember being too pleased about the idea of you being a member of an establishment that has 'playrooms,'" she mumbles.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Oh really? But, darling Kate, we went undercover in that club a full year before we got together. Are you admitting - "

"Hold your horses, pal, I'm not admitting anything," she says, but he knows that she is. No matter how many times they talk about how long they've had feelings for one another, it still makes him ache to think of all the time he could have been loving her up close instead of from a respectable distance. She'd been going through so much, he could see it churning just under the surface, and he wanted desperately to be the home she returned to at the end of each day. Instead, he'd had to settle for parting ways politely on the sidewalk or in front of the elevator.

"The point is," she says, "I wouldn't mind you still having a card as long as I'm the one that gets to _play_ with you," she says.

"I did let my membership lapse, but I'm sure I can pull a few strings and get us in."

"What do you say we go home so I can have a quick shower to get the plane off me, and you can get the Ferrari pulled around to the front."

"I say 'hell yes,'… but only if that black dress is available." He knows she still has it. He'd snooped around in the closet just last week, to see what she'd taken to D.C. and what she'd left. When he'd run his fingers over the tight, textured elastic fabric, all the _need _he'd felt that night had come rushing back. The way her perfect ass swung to the beat. How she'd piled her hair on her head and let her mouth fall open like she was in the throes of ecstasy. It had fueled his fantasies for weeks.

"I'm pretty sure I have it laying around somewhere," she smirks.

* * *

><p>Castle's body pitches forward, caught hard by the seatbelt when Beckett slams on the brakes and stops the Ferrarri at the curb. She bites her lip, lost in her own moment of pleasure, and he wipes his mouth to check for drool when she handles the stick shift to put it into park.<p>

He can feel the eyes on them as he jogs around the car to open the door for her. He's torn between pride and the desire to turn right back around so he can lock this exquisite woman in his bedroom where no one else can see her. He doesn't want to share those long, perfectly tanned and muscled legs, or the cascade of messy waves that tumble down her back, or anything between. She's perfect, the hottest thing he's ever seen, and with her on his arm, he's never felt like more of a celebrity.

He recognizes the bouncer and shakes his hand like an old friend. He leans into speak a few words into his ear over the roar of the music that empties onto the sidewalk from inside the club. The whole time, Kate's hand is folded in his. Last time they were here, she wouldn't let him hold her hand, even though they were pretending to be a couple. This time she's wearing an engagement ring and to his absolute awe, he's the lucky bastard that put it there.

The bouncer brings his wrist up to speak into the mic hidden in his sleeve, checking with someone inside if it's alright to let them in. While they're waiting for a decision, Castle tugs on Kate's hand. She must have been lost in thought because she teeters on her heels. He takes advantage of her momentary lapse in balance and lets her fall against him. Stupidly, he's feeling the need to show off, to mark his territory, because there's a line full of younger, smoother men just _staring_ at her. And he knows that all they see is a body. They don't know anything about her, about how tough she is or about what she needs. He does.

Castle leans in to graze his teeth on her lower lip, tugging just a little, tasting the spark of lime hidden there. He'd had a G&T to pregame before they'd left the loft, and she'd only stolen one sip, but he can taste it.

"What was that for?" she laughs.

"Nothing."

"Mr. Castle?" The bouncer unhooks a velvet rope and nods for them to enter.

They enter the club and the music instantly surges around them, flooding the room and pulsing in time with the flash of lights. Castle loses his balance for a second in the sea of bodies that rise and roll. But then he looks at Beckett and he knows exactly what direction is up. She plunges into the crowd, bouncing just a little to the beat of the music. He watches as more and more of her body loosens until she's fully dancing. And this time when she catches him looking at her ass she doesn't stop moving, she just smirks and leads him to the dance floor

They get through three songs before they start making out like teenagers, and another before they leave the dance floor in lieu of a nice, sturdy wall.

"God, I love the way you smell," Kate says before diving back in and running her tongue over Castle's bottom lip. The top three buttons of his bright red dress shirt are unbuttoned, and his collar is wrinkled from where she's been grabbing it.

"Ditto," he manages. He's drowning in her kisses. She seems so … hungry. He knocks her knees apart with one of his and lays himself against her, the hot, firm press of his body shielding her from the chaos of the room.

"Castle," she breathes out his name, and it's a miracle he can hear it at all over the music. Maybe he feels it more than hears it, the vibration of her ecstasy in the very heat of her breath on his ear.

She pulls back to look frantically around the room and spots the cool white glow from a corridor. It must lead to the restrooms. She's desperate for him. Now.

She pulls on his hand, and they battle through the press of bodies together.

"Beckett, wait," he says suddenly. Her eyes flash with impatience. "I have a better idea, if that's okay?" It's her fantasy, and if she wants him to fuck her in the bathroom, he's totally game.

She shrugs. "I'm flexible."

Oh, yes, he knows.

Castle leads her to the curved marble staircase at the far end of the room. As they approach, a bouncer spots him and starts to unhook another velvet rope. He may not get recognized on the street, but his years as a loyal and friendly customer do get him some perks around town.

He swings Kate out in front of him and lets her climb the stairs first so he can try to get a cheeky glimpse up her dress. He's sweetly rewarded, with both sight and scent, as he follows behind in the warm cherry cloud like an excited puppy.

"Mr. Castle, this way please." A slick looking man Castle recognizes as one of the managers leads them down the carpeted hallway to one of the club's private playrooms. Castle locks the door and turns to his fiancé.

"Wow." Kate makes a circuit around the room, dragging her finger over the textured waves of the shining silver wall. There's a small bar in the corner stocked with a rainbow of liquor bottles. The room's lit by two wall sconces, and the main attraction is obviously the bed. Well, she thinks it's a bed. It's just a low circle of slick red leather, not a seam in sight. She can't believe Vice hasn't shut this place down yet, but they do seem to be careful and Castle promises her they don't sell sexual services, so in a way it's like a hotel. Only there's probably very little sleeping done on these beds.

She stops at the far end of the room, where a smoke gray window overlooks the dance floor. Castle crosses the room quietly, tossing his jacket onto the bed as he passes. He comes to stand behind Kate.

"One way mirror," she murmurs. He's been in these rooms with women who had to ask if it was actually a window, and he's grateful that he's not here with some bimbo. She'd probably recognize privacy glass anywhere, seeing as she looks through it almost every day.

"It's not the interrogation room - which is one of my fantasies, in case you're wondering - but it'll do," he says.

"Sorry, babe, but I can't see how we could get away with doing it in an interrogation room. But if I ever see an opportunity, you'll be the first to know."

The music is piped in from downstairs, although it's at a not quite as soul-shaking volume. The subwoofers power through walls and windows alike, though. Every hit on the bass reverberates through their chests, pumping and rocking like sex though their blood.

The song is slower now, the beat tripping and hitching every now and then, and Kate wonders if the little glitches in rhythm are actually the music or if it's her own heartbeat stuttering when Castle brushes his fingers sideways over her neck to move her hair away. She tilts her head and he finds the long expanse of skin above her shoulder, dragging his lips over the length of her neck before diving in with biting, warm, territorial kisses.

Heat shimmers through her. She arches her back and tips her ass up to fit into the cradle behind her. It's lewd, but she can't help the animal urge to _feel_ him, so she bumps backwards twice, three times, ramming herself against where he's already hard for her.

He thrusts forward her with just as much enthusiasm, but it's a poor imitation for the real thing. For the wet slide, for the electricity of being skin to skin. Another thrust from him and her hands fly up to the window to brace herself.

"You know they'll be able to see your palms," Castle whispers.

"I know," she says. She doesn't move them.

He groans and dives back into the curve of her neck. She closes her eyes and rides the waves of pleasure, delighted when his hands slide over her hips and then around to the front of her thighs. He curls his fingers and scrapes her with his nails, from her knees to the tops of her thighs, pushing her dress out of the way with almost no effort at all. It's bunched up around her waist when his hand flattens against her stomach and then glides down, underneath the silk of her underwear and over the slippery heat of her.

"Mmm." She purrs as he strokes over her. It takes all he has not to unzip his fly, rip her underwear to the side, and pump into her right then and there.

"You like that?"

"You know I do," she whispers.

He angles his wrist so he can curl two fingers into her. She gasps when he tugs against her from the inside, pressing hard enough to make her knees lock. He watches in complete fascination as the fingers of one hand press against the glass and go white while the fingers of the other curl into a fist.

Her head drops back onto his shoulder and his mouth finds her jaw, devouring her with messy kisses until she turns into his mouth. She writhes under him, rotating her hips so the heel of his palm grinds down on her more intensely.

Suddenly he feels the thin bone of her arm maneuver between them, searching blindly for his zipper. There's no way he's going to be able to draw this out, he has to be inside her.

"You're messing up my plans," he grates out.

"Mmm. Yeah, you're just gonna have to tell me about them instead."

"I was going to lay you down on the bed. Pop a bottle of champagne. Pour it on your clit." He punctuates his plans by using his pinkie and ring finger to pinch the little hard swell. "I wanted to see if the bubbles would make you come."

She pulls him out of his pants. He looks down to where he's springing obscenely up, a pink contrast to her black dress. He grabs the hem and shoves it up over her ass, giving what's exposed in her cheeky underwear a quick slap.

She rubs against him, feline in her grace. How she expects him to control himself, he doesn't know. Maybe she doesn't expect him to.

"Castle."

Yeah, she definitely doesn't expect him to.

He plants a hand on her back and tilts her forwards. He draws a line down her over the silk of her underwear before sliding his finger under and mercilessly shoving the fabric to one side. She's dripping wet before him. There's absolutely nothing clearer in this moment to him than the need to be inside her.

He loops his fingers around the base of his cock to angle it down, then presses into her, slowly, inch by inch, letting her soak him. When he pulls back out, he's gleaming with her arousal. In and he can feel the sparks already gathering in her body. Out and he can feel the tightness winding low in his own belly. In and she slaps the window, begging for more. Out and he grabs her by the ridges of her hipbones. In and she contracts around him, squeezing him because he loves it and it drives him crazy. Out and he lets his head drop to her shoulder, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure of it all.

Over and over, until she suddenly whirls in his arms, leaving him cold for only a second before she pushes on his chest. He lands on the leather bed and she scrambles on top of him. Glides back down onto him. This time she sets the pace.

She comes before he does, thank God, and he flips her over and gets up onto his knees. His pants are going to be a mess, but with Kate splayed out in front of him, he could not give two fucks. He grabs her ankles and lifts them to his shoulders, those long, lithe legs stretched out against the length of his body. Her fingers drift down to her clit and she comes again, and this time when she fists around him he follows her off the edge.

* * *

><p>"Wow."<p>

"Wow is right. You were like an animal," Beckett pants.

"Good fantasy idea. No, _great_ fantasy idea."

"Yeah."

"Wish we'd done that the last time we were here."

"Before or after arresting Oz?"

"Matters not," Castle says.

"Mmm. Yeah, guess not."

Beckett rolls over and tugs her dress back down her legs. Then she gives Castle's face a gentle slap.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"For checking out my ass two years ago."


End file.
